


Raudonis Hall

by peppermintquartz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crimson Peak Inspired, Ghosts, It's a story with ghosts in it, M/M, Murder, do I even tag cannibalism anymore?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love makes monsters of us all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"As you can see, the house is in considerable disrepair," said Count Hannibal Lecter when Will Graham came up to stand beside him, after the groundskeeper Burns touched the brim of his hat and left them. "Outside of the wear on the exterior, there is a hole in the roof, and the house is sinking."

Will chewed contemplatively on his lower lip. The house - the mansion - towered over him, its windows a forbidding gaze warning him against stepping inside. Raudonis Hall was crumbling before their eyes, but even in her decay, she was grand and stately. 

"The mines have weakened the foundations too greatly," said the count. "Much of my family's past fortunes have come from the mines, and now I have to return my fortunes to keep the mines from taking what little I have of my family's past."

"I'll do what I can to save it." Will stuck his hands in his pockets. He had fixed up various engines and restored some homes before, needing to earn his living after his father died, but this would be his biggest project to date. He almost wished he had not gone for the interview, but Miss Alana Bloom had recommended him to her old friend, and he had not wanted to embarrass her. "Can't guarantee I can, but I'll try for sure."

A faint glimmer of amusement played over the count's sensuous lips; of all the men Count Lecter interviewed, only Will kept forgetting to use the respectful address. The older man gestured to a large contraption situated to their left. "I intend to shore up the foundations, but my men cannot work unless I can keep the clay from seeping into the machinery." He sighed, every inch an aristocrat. "It is pernicious stuff; at no moment does it stop its invasion into my family home."

"And that's where I come in?" Belatedly Will recalled he was speaking to a count. "...Sir?"

"That is where you come in." Count Lecter turned a quiet smile on Will. "From the beginning I liked that you're not cowed by my title, Mr Graham. Do carry on as you've begun."

The young American's mouth twitched. He wasn't sure if he amused the man, but it was good he didn't have to mind his P's and Q's too much. Too often he would be lost in thought and would blurt out a response that was too blunt, too hurtful in its bluntness, and him too distracted to notice the hurt he had inflicted until it was too late. 

"Still, I have to call you something," Will said, eyes scanning the gables and columns of that immense building before him. So much needing to be repaired - he could work here for a lifetime, if Count Lecter would allow it, and Will only too pleased if given the opportunity. Restoring something like this would be an honor. 

Count Lecter hummed. "I am also a doctor," he said at last. "Dr Lecter will do, or doctor. Perhaps over the next few months we'll be comfortable enough with each other to address each other by our names."

A flush crept up Will's neck. "It is quite cold," he remarked quickly. "Could I bother your housekeeper for some coffee?"

"We only have tea, Mr Graham. I will make you some myself - I'm between help, at the moment, much to my embarrassment. The house poses myriad difficulties for people living here, and more often they prefer not to."

The first impression Will had of the interior of Raudonis Hall was of height and cold. In all honesty, the house was only four storeys tall, but like its owner it presented a lofty air. The chill came from the large hole in the roof.

Count Lecter looked mildly chagrined. "The most recent storm ripped it wide open."

As Will's gaze trailed down the bones of the house, he saw where red had seeped from its cracks and fissures, staining the fine wallpaper bloody. There were beautiful tiles on the floor that had cracked, and clay oozed like thick blood when he put his weight on them.

The older man shook his head. "I've apartments in London and Paris," he told Will, "and my managers have tried to persuade me to sell Raudonis Hall, but this is my home and I will have it restored."

"I can't possibly do all the necessary work alone," Will said, following the man into a blue kitchen dominated by a huge cast-iron cooker which was practically gleaming with care. The count gestured for Will to take a seat. The American shifted about on the chair, feeling quite out of his depth. "When you said you needed someone familiar with engines and house repair, I was picturing a much smaller residence."

"You will have assistants." The count inclined his head slightly as he heated up a kettle. Thankfully the groundskeeper had already started a fire in the kitchen, or the cold would be bitingly unbearable. "The men live in the village not two miles from here. Once you have surveyed the house and decided what needs to be done, they will come by in the morning and you can set them to work for the day. They of course will return home to their wives and children in the evenings."

Will exhaled a laugh through his nose. "I suppose I shall have to ask Burns for a cot."

"You will of course stay with me in Raudonis Hall," said Count Lecter with a small smile. "There are enough rooms, and I am not so churlish as to deny my guest of comfort."

"I... sir, I do not wish to presume-" Sputtering, Will tried to shape an argument with his hands. "I am but a worker, a-and I do not... This is a place for gentlemen and ladies, and I am neither."

Count Lecter stared at Will, his chiseled features stern and forbidding even though a hint of a smile hovered about his mouth. "You're not a common laborer, Mr Graham. You've an understanding on engines and machinery rivaling men who are supposedly educated, and I have seen the standard to which you have restored Miss Bloom's lovely home. You are my guest, and I will treat you as such. In any event, I've already instructed Burns to prepare a room for you, just down the hall from where I am."

"Yes sir, of course."

"Mr Graham, please. Just 'doctor' will do," said the older man, not unkindly. The kettle sang and he stood to make the tea.

*****

"The red from the clay seeps into the pipes, so don't be alarmed if the water should run red for a minute or so." Dr Lecter - Will struggled to remember that in his head - demonstrated. The pipes creaked and sputtered, and then blood-colored water gushed into the white tub. It was startling and Will was glad the aristocrat had told him, or he would have made a fool of himself. "Thankfully Burns and I managed to repair the boiler, or living here would be terribly inconvenient. I should have to set up a bathtub right in the kitchen."

Will chuckled. It had been a lengthy journey from his home in Baltimore, and while the count - the doctor - had kindly arranged for his fare and they had had ample time to grow used to each other's presence, living under the same, albeit torn up, roof was quite different from sharing a train carriage on the road. 

"I leave you here for the night, Mr Graham," said the count. "Do let me know if you should need anything. In time you would know Raudonis Hall better than I do, but until then please consider yourself an honored guest."

*****

Count Hannibal Lecter had been invited to Baltimore by Miss Alana Bloom to celebrate her engagement when she found out he had been in New York. By now she would be a Mrs Verger, if Will remembered the dates correctly. Count Lecter had cut quite a dashing figure among the social classes, Miss Alana had confided in Will the evening she asked him to meet with the aristocrat.

"Shame about his wife," she had said. "A Frenchwoman, very accomplished writer in her own right, and as haughty and cold as a mountain of snow."

"Shame about his wife as in you wish you could've married him?" Will had asked, and then realized his impertinence.

Miss Alana had graciously waved aside his apologies. "Shame because she died in Florence. They had had an argument, apparently, and she _drowned_. He was quite upset when he recounted it. I suppose he blames himself, still."

Will had been undecided initially. Nobility was foreign to him, and what was foreign was frightening. "Why am I meeting him?"

"He's looking for an engineer and an expert in restoring houses. I thought of you immediately."

To be thought of immediately by the lovely Miss Alana Bloom was more than what Will could bear. He had averted his eyes from her soft, pale skin and lusciously pink lips, as well as her rich dark curls that framed her face like a cameo. It made him angry that Mason Verger would be marrying this wonderful, kind woman; he had no doubt that the Verger man would abuse and hurt her. He could not take action, of course; he had nothing to offer Miss Bloom, and the Vergers were wealthy from land and from pigs. At least Mason Verger had a younger sister who would look after Miss Alana. Will had seen how Miss Margot Verger gazed at Miss Alana, and he hoped that would be enough for them to be rid of the odious, insufferable Mason as soon as they got what they wanted from him.

When he had met with the count, it had been in a small restaurant with five other men. They - the other men - had chatted with the count, deferential and cloyingly polite. Then Count Lecter had leaned across the table and asked Will what he thought.

Will had shrugged and said, "What I think is that you've come a long way to be flattered by shallow incompetents. I have nothing to say about the house, sir, because each building poses its own challenge, and I cannot read its challenges blind."

The delight had only been evident in the gleam in the count's eyes, which Will had caught only because he thought he had offended the man. The others sputtered or grew angry at Will's words, but in Count Lecter's presence they had not said anything. Later, at the end of the meal, the count asked Will to stay for a moment longer on the pretext of discussing Miss Bloom's engagement gift, but instead he had asked Will to come to England with him to solve his problem with Raudonis Hall.

Count Hannibal Lecter... He was handsome, a masculine beauty in every sense of the word. Strong-limbed, broad-backed, and eyes the strange color of clear blood and whiskey. The aristocratic features were always controlled, even when it was just the two of them in a train carriage. Never outright laughing even at a funny sight, or a scowl; pleasure and displeasure fell over his eyes and mouth as a thin veil only, and easily unnoticed. He had unusually sharp teeth and Will had been reminded strongly of the tales in the penny dreadfuls, of blood-drinking monstrous creatures, of Stoker's Dracula. The man was undoubtedly human, of course, for they were together for months as they traveled through cities where the count had to pay polite visits to certain friends before they could leave. Will had seen more of cities in the two months with the count than he ever had.

*****

It was windy outside. The sound of it tearing around the house, the creaking of the structure... A lesser soul would not have wanted to live here, even with its extravagant trappings. No wonder there was no housekeeper.

The next few months, possibly a year, would bring different challenges, and he was out here in the middle of nowhere in a stately, crumbling mansion with a handsome man. If he were a woman, this would be perfect for a scandal.

He rested his head back in the tub, letting the hot water draw the chill from his knees and feet. Steam curled and wisped about his face, and he passed a hand through it. 

"Dr Hannibal Lecter," he mouthed, trying out the name and the new, less formal title. "Dr Lecter."

_Hannibal? Hannibal!_

The whisper startled Will. He sat up in the tub, heedless of the water splashing over the sides. A deep breath later, he asked, very quietly, "Dr Lecter?"

There was no reply other than the rising shriek of the wind outside Raudonis Hall. Will sank back into the hot water and breathed out.

 _It must have been a trick of the wind,_ he decided. A building as old as this had its peculiarities.


	2. Chapter 2

Will slept uneasily.

The house creaked and groaned as it battled the night, and every sound kept Will on the edge of sleep. He thought he was awake, but knew he dreamed; monstrous black stags dripping thick ichor the color of onyx; a child's laughter that was nothing more than a whisper; the count, crying tears of blood from eyes dark as sin; a floating wisp that danced in the corner of his sight.

When he woke, he could see pale daylight outside his windows. A quick check of his pocket watch showed a quarter to nine. That was far later than he was used to getting up at; he supposed the long journey to Raudonis Hall took a toll. He got dressed quickly and hurried down to the kitchen, hoping that a hot drink and breakfast would dispel some of the fatigue in his shoulders.

To his surprise, Count Lecter was there, talking to a statuesque woman. She was black and carried herself tall and proud, nothing of the subservience Will had seen in the black servants on the Verger estate when he had to go repair a pump there. Will wondered at Count Lecter who would talk as an equal to everyone, laborer and colored people alike, when his own father would have spat and called out names.

"Ah, there he is," said the older man with a genial smile. "Mr Will Graham. Mr Graham, this is Mrs Crawford. She has just applied to be my housekeeper. Her husband works in the next town, in the steel industry."

"Good morning Mrs Crawford," said Will, inclining his head politely.

Mrs Crawford cast an eye over him, a small smile on her beautiful face. "Good morning, Mr Graham."

Breakfast was hot porridge with some ham that the count had cured personally, and it tasted good and filling. Will sipped on the tea served, wishing it had been coffee instead. Just as they finished eating, something brushed by Will's leg. He jolted and peered under the table. A white long-haired cat mewed at him quizzically.

"Why hello little thing," he said, reaching down to pick the cat up. "Aren't you precious? You are a beautiful thing, aren't you?"

Mrs Crawford frowned slightly. "I wasn't told there'd be a cat. Am I to provide its meals too?"

Count Lecter was staring at the animal, his gaze unfathomable. After a moment, he replied, "I doubt you'd have to give more than a saucer a day. Trebia has always been a good mouser, despite her aristocratic looks."

The cat purred with Will's petting and draped itself over his shoulder, warming him with its long fur. Will smiled and rubbed it behind its ears; its whiskers tickled.

"Trebia?"

"That is her name," said the count. "She was my late wife's cat. Before we left for Florence we thought she had got herself lost outside, and I despaired of finding her again."

"I suppose she found her way home and survived on mice and the occasional scrap from Burns." Will petted the cat. "Cats can be very resourceful hunters and scavengers."

"Yes, they certainly can." There was a strange note in the older man's voice. He studied the cat a moment longer, not reaching out for it at all, but when the cat hopped off of the American and rubbed herself over his legs he smiled down vaguely at it. Then he nodded at Will and said, "Shall we tour the house and take notes on what needs doing?"

*****

They started from the top, carefully climbing out onto the roof.

"It's quite safe here," said Count Lecter. He pointed to the hole and added, "That will have to be our priority. The wind is strong here and we must have this fixed before the rains and snow come."

"We'd need experienced roofers and proper scaffolding for this," said Will. "That's a four-storey drop if anything should go awry."

"How long would you need?"

"A week and a half, if the men are good."

"You have two weeks."

Will had an eye for measurement, and as they proceeded from the top of the mansion all the way down to the ground floor, he took note of estimated heights and widths, of materials and colors. His little notebook filled up with pencil notations, some of which he would have to go over again once he had checked the dimensions with his own tape measure later. Along their passage, he saw portraits - some destroyed by damp, others faded and aged - of Lecters.

"There's another Hannibal Lecter," he pointed out when they got to the second floor's study. Then his cheeks colored with embarrassment. "I mean, you share a name with an ancestor."

The older man smiled fondly at Will's faux pas. "I am the sixth of the name. It will probably die with me."

"Why? Doctor." Will tacked on the title at the end, hoping he would get used to it soon.

"No progeny was granted my late wife and I, and I have no wish to remarry." Count Lecter - Dr Lecter - exhaled slowly. "Be that as it may, I believe I have a cousin living in the Far East with my aunt. My cousin and her children will inherit when I die, and out of respect to my uncle Robertus, I will protect and care for what is in my possession."

Will glanced at him and then at the portrait. On cursory inspection there was little similarity, what with Hannibal Lecter the Second being portly and bald, and Dr Lecter lean and handsome, but as Will examined the features he picked out the inscrutable, knowing gaze as being a common feature. The artist had managed to capture the Lecter aura of danger and wisdom. He smiled briefly to himself. Perhaps he would see the others of the same name, and in all of them maybe that same air about the eyes.

As they came out of the room and rounded the elevator, Will saw something fall from the ceiling out of the corner of his eye and then there was a thud. Swiveling around on a heel, he ran to the ornate railing and peered over, dreading what he might see.

Nothing.

Dr Lecter came up behind him. "Mr Graham?"

"Did you hear-" Will shook himself mentally. "I just - I thought I heard something. It must have been the house."

"It does make an extraordinary amount of noise, yes," said Dr Lecter. "I have learned to ignore them."

Will chuckled. "I'll have to learn that quickly."

He turned and collided with the count. He belatedly realized how close Dr Lecter was behind him when the doctor steadied him by grasping his elbow. The older man smelled wonderful, and his deep red brocade vest shone like spilled blood on marble. This close, Will could see the gray in the count's - no, the  _doctor's_ , Will was to call him Doctor - in Dr Lecter's neatly trimmed beard, and his sensuous, wide mouth with its ridiculous and beautiful pout...

"Mr Graham?"

"Huh? I-I was thinking about - replacing the floors. Or, perhaps, laying another layer over it after proofing it against the seeping clay. Concrete first, then wood or tile. It's just a thought."

Dr Lecter smiled. "That would be quite extensive."

"This is a sinking house, though, and concrete will add weight. Shall we go down? I would like to see the basement." Will bit the inside of his cheek. He had made himself quite the fool now, and he hoped fervently that the doctor had not seen past his blather.

*****

The elevator was very cramped, barely enough space for two. Will kept very still as the mechanism cranked to life, and he swallowed the lurch in his stomach when it began to sink.

Dr Lecter appeared unconcerned. "I saw its installation myself when I was eight," he said. "I had convinced Father that we needed one, for he was suffering in his right leg and it would be easier for him to check on the mines this way. It goes all the way down, but our concern is that of the cellar."

The elevator stopped with a metallic jolt. Will scrambled out as soon as he could. Dr Lecter tilted his head. "Not fond of the elevator, are we, Mr Graham?"

"No, not quite," Will admitted. He tugged on his shirt sleeve and adjusted his glasses as the count lit up a candle and went ahead of him, lighting up some sconces on the wall. Will looked around, taking note of the quality of the stonework. Red clay sucked on the soles of his shoes. "It was built well."

"Yes, this part of the house is quite sturdy, it's the older basements that have fallen into disrepair." Dr Lecter pointed at the sealed-off wall at the far end. 

"If we drained the rooms, we could construct better walls. I would like to try using concrete in your basement, Dr Lecter, I've heard marvelous things about it."

The other man looked doubtful. "I've heard that it is not a strong material."

"Not by itself, but when reinforced with steel rods it becomes quite sturdy. How cold does it get around here?"

"Freezing, often for months."

"Possibly concrete only for the floors then." Will could see it in his head: reinforced concrete floors, stone walls and a reinforced ceiling for the basement rooms, and tamping down the clay above it and redoing the floor tiles. It would be costly so he had to work out the numbers and the sort of workmen he would require. It would be a long project and he could feel anticipation rising. To put this grand dame back in her glory days, make her shine once more...

_You care only for aesthetics._

Will blinked. "Excuse me, doctor, did you say something?"

Dr Lecter looked puzzled. "No, other than that it is frequently freezing cold for months."

"Oh." Will chewed on his lower lip. "I have to measure some of the rooms and do my sums, but by the evening I should be able to give you an estimate of the sort of work needed."

"I would be very grateful for that," said Dr Lecter. "It is past noon. Shall we have our meal together? Then we can share the warmth of the study, where you may work on numbers and I on my correspondence. My manager in London has sent some telegrams that need my attention."

It was not possible to say no to that, so Will did not try.

*****

Dr Lecter looked like a painting at his desk. The light fell on him like a blessing, and his sculpted features drew the eye as an oasis drew a man in the desert. Will had redone his measurements, calculated heights and depths and widths; now he sucked on the end of his pencil as his mind spun dizzyingly through plans to restore Raudonis Hall. Yet his gaze, other than the occasional flick to his worn notebook, never left the stern and sensual profile of the doctor.

He wrote smoothly, without hesitation or blotting on the page. His pen skated and danced over paper with ease and not too much flourish; he was not a man given to extravagance, Will decided, but a keen student of elegance. Will wished he dared use a pen, but his fingers were thick from labor and clumsy besides; it was not something for one as he.

"Your pencil must be feeling quite abused, Mr Graham," Dr Lecter remarked without turning his head.

Will blinked rapidly. "Hmm?"

The older man looked over his shoulder. "I have seen you chewing on your pencils often enough over the past two months. Did your schoolteachers not correct you?"

"I never did attend school," Will admitted. His ears felt hot.

"My apologies. I had assumed since you write and you reckon."

"My father and some of his friends taught me my letters and my arithmetic." The young American tugged the pencil from his mouth and he stared at the tattered edges of his notebook. "Only the useful practical things. Nothing fancy like your reading or your writing. With a pen and all."

The mortification hit him after the words escaped from his mouth. The heat spread from his ears across his face and he swallowed. "I could - I could use something to drink. I'll go down and ask Mrs Crawford to prepare some tea, shall I?"

"Mr Graham," said Dr Lecter quietly, "do not be ashamed. Please. I meant no offense."

"I should- I should be the one apologizing," stammered Will. His fingers clenched around his notebook and he stuffed it into his pocket.

Dr Lecter stood and walked over, carefully drawing his hand from his pocket, the notebook still clutched in his grip. He gently prised it from Will's hand, and opened it. Inside were pages of Will's untidy scrawl in sharp pencil.

"It is too ugly," said Will, wanting to snatch the book from Dr Lecter but wanting also to hide his face.

"I see effort and determination," said the older man. His low voice was without pity or scorn, and Will dared himself to meet Dr Lecter's warm gaze. "I see endeavor, I see persistence. I see labor and honesty. There is nothing ugly in this."

"You are too kind."

"I am being truthful." Dr Lecter smiled and closed the notebook, smoothing out the faded cover and pressing it back in Will's hand, his own warm hand laid over it. "However, if you would allow it, I would be more than delighted to share the contents of my library with you."

"I don't think I can read a tenth of any of your books, sir."

"Then I will guide you." The doctor's tone was gently commanding. Will felt his heart lurch as it had when he was in the elevator. "You will teach me how to care for my home, and I will teach you whatever you wish to learn of me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah i put little Hannicat in there too >:)


	3. Chapter 3

"Best to just move the whole place elsewhere, in my opinion," said Hayes, the carpenter. The other workmen nodded sagely as they sipped on their thick builder's tea. "Still, she is going to be one pretty grand thing, sitting atop the hill lordin' over the mines and town, eh?"

Will shrugged and said nothing. For the past two weeks he had been the man in charge of salvaging the crumbling glory of Raudonis Hall, and so far they had managed to repair the roof and were just starting on the basements. After some consultation with the local masons, Will had to let go of the idea of pouring concrete into the basement for flooring. Instead they were going to redo the tiles in the entryway and strengthen the support of the front of the house. Hayes had taken a look and declared that past generations of Lecters had been idiots who built on weak foundations. It was a good thing Dr Lecter had not been around to hear that, even if the carpenter's assessment tallied with Will's privately held one.

The count was away in London on business, leaving two days after he had shown Will around the mansion, and had yet to state a date of his return. Mrs Crawford had been very aloof, delivering tea and meals at the designated time to the corner of the study where Will had more or less made his workspace, and spoke very little to the American. If not for the restoration and the workers he was managing, Will would hardly talk at all. His time and energies were completely absorbed by the demands of the project, so much so that he would fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow and would not wake until the alarm clock - graciously lent to him by Dr Lecter - rung at four in the morning.

Even though he was very busy, he found himself missing Count Hannibal Lecter. He dared not allow himself the liberty to think why.

*****

"Mr Graham?" Mrs Crawford called from the door to the study. "Mr Graham, there's a telegram for you. Burns brought it in from town."

"Thank you, Mrs Crawford," said Will.

The housekeeper studied Will as he took the telegram from her hands. She smiled faintly and said, "You're welcome, Mr Graham, and thank you for your courtesy shown me. Burns and the other men call me by name, and they are rough men; the good doctor calls me by name, and that is a freedom due his station; but you, Mr Graham, you call me Mrs Crawford, and I do not quite know what to make of you."

Will felt his cheeks warming. "You don't speak as a servant either, if I may be bold, and even though Dr Lecter insisted that I am a guest, the fact remains that I am working for him, and so we're equals. If we're equals, then as a man I should extend you the courtesy due a married woman."

Mrs Crawford's smile thawed. "You are a kind man, Mr Graham. Too kind for this place. Mr Graham?"

"Yes, Mrs Crawford?"

"You should stay away from Crimson Peak."

Before Will could ask her to elaborate, he felt someone shake his shoulder firmly from behind.

He straightened with a jolt and realized he had been dreaming. He had fallen asleep at the table and the fire was burning low. "Sorry Mrs Crawford, I must've been more tired than I thought I was," he said. "What time is it please?"

There was no answer.

Slowly, Will turned around in his chair.

There was no one in the study with him.

*****

The darkness was more complete now that the roof had been repaired, though the scaffolding remained because they needed to repair the ceiling as well. Will's lamp threw the shadows into deeper shadows; there was no cheery fire from the fireplace downstairs, and the house was completely silent. He braced himself and strode towards his bedroom, conscientiously averting his eyes from the portraits on the walls. His imagination would run away with him if he allowed it, and so he held the reins of his mind as tightly as he could.

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape fall from the top of the scaffolding, a rush of blackness, and then a sickening thud.

The sound was exactly like what a person landing from a great fall would make on the ground.

Will could feel every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He took a deep breath, kept a tight grip on his lamp, and looked over the balustrade.

There was a man, lean and long-limbed, splayed on the bare floor. Stunned, Will jogged down the steps, worried that it was a worker who had stayed to work on the ceiling. When he was but five paces from the figure, the man moved. Not as a man, but as a clockwork toy: the torso rose first, arching impossibly, and all four limbs supported it as the legs of a table. The ankles and wrists were bent at angles that would have broken a normal, living man's.

The long limbs shuddered and _crackled_ , extending further to raise the torso to the height of a man. Then it turned around, jerky and nightmarish, and Will saw the man's upside down face.

If it had been the face of an eldritch horror, all faceted eye and daggered teeth, it would have been less terrifying.

Instead, he looked into a face so alike to his own they could have been brothers. Dark curls, angular jaw, clean-shaven. The man rotated his head, the neck bones snapping and cracking like twigs, until he looked Will in the eye in the correct orientation. A man-creature borne of nightmares, something Will could never have imagined. He could hardly breathe now. He could feel the hammering of his heart against his ribs and the scream perched in his throat, ready to erupt. There would be no help, he knew instinctively. Backing away, he scrambled away from the monstrous figure until he collided with the wall.

The man-creature spoke. "The truth can be a twisted, uncomfortable thing," he hissed, his voice melodious and low, and all the more Will wished it away. "Are you here to untwist it from its uncomfortable position?"

Swallowing, Will pressed himself against the wall, turning his head away. He could feel the chill of the wall seeping into his palms and his back, under his skin, wrapping about his heart that would not stop pounding. This had to be a nightmare, it  _had_ to be-

Antlers sprouted from the man-creature's neck and the back of his head, and he pinned Will to the wall. Will could feel the tines sink into him and through him, icicles piercing his flesh and bone, until the man-creature was nose-to-nose with him. Will could  _smell_ him, sweet and cloying like dry rot, an insidious invasion of his senses. His knees shook and his fingers dug into the wallpaper.

The man-creature leered, beautiful and predatory. "Will you join the party, Will?"

Then the man-creature kissed Will on his cheek before it exploded in a burst of thick liquid darkness.

Will fainted.

*****

_"...all night long?..."_

_"...I found him lying there at the foot of the steps; he'd bidden me goodnight..."_

_"...a fever..."_

_"...I will care for him. Burns, you know Mr Graham's plans. Execute them as..."_

_"...my fault..."_

_"...no blame on you, Phyllis..."_

The voices swam over his oddly-hollow head. Will reached blindly for the figure he could sense beside him, and closed his hand about a warm, firm one. He was also warm, tucked into an unfamiliar softness, and he murmured, "Water. Tired."

"Boil up a kettle and leave it on a tray outside the door," said a familiar, accented voice. "Leave the room, he will need rest."

The sounds of footsteps faded quickly, and then it was just the warmth and comfort of a bed Will knew was not his.

He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. "Dr Lecter. Is it truly you?"

The older man smiled and pushed dark curls from Will's fevered brow. He had trimmed his beard and the lines in his face were more obvious, but the severe beauty of his features softened as Dr Lecter regarded Will. "It is me. I am home now."

"I have missed you so much," Will whispered, mind struggling to hold on to consciousness. His head ached and demanded to be let back to restful sleep. His grip on Dr Lecter's hand grew lax, despite his desire to cling on forever, to keep away the memory of darkness. His breathing deepened and slowed against his will. "So much..."

He was certain he dreamed that Dr Lecter pressed a kiss to his lips, and the whispered response: "As have I, darling Will."


	4. Chapter 4

Will lost track of time. Moments of clarity punctuated lengthy dreams of silent black stags and crying ravens. He was vaguely cognizant of day and night passing outside the two narrow windows in the unfamiliar room, but did not know how many dawns had passed since he was installed in this bed.

There were voices, hushed and distant, and the sounds of hammers and saws and men working. They were restoring the hall. He tried to get up once or twice, to check on their progress, but each time he was herded back to bed before he ever made it out the door. Or perhaps he had never made it out of bed - it was hard trying to sort out memory from imagination.

One thing he knew for sure: Dr Lecter hardly left his side. Will grew to recognize the doctor's scent, a unique blend of wool, smoke, and of orange blossoms after rain. Sometimes, he felt the older man dampen his brow with a cool towel; other times Dr Lecter would dab away sweat beading on his brow and on his neck. In his more lucid moments, usually late at night, Will was deeply embarrassed knowing that his other needs had been seen to: his clothes were clean, not sweat-soaked, and the bed was just as dry and clean, but he knew he had to have emptied his bowels and bladder somehow.

He also took note that Dr Lecter had set up a smaller bed next to his, as though he was keeping vigil. Will never shifted about when he was conscious, just for the chance to observe the older man without fear. In repose, Dr Lecter looked younger, less severe. The few times he was aware of his surrounds in the day, Will had not been able to meet Dr Lecter's gaze at all.

He could only pray that he had not revealed any of his secrets in his sleep.

*****

This time his re-emergence into consciousness was met with a tired smile on Dr Lecter's face.

"The fever has finally broken," he said. His warm hand reached out and brushed over Will's unshaven jaw. Carefully he guided a cup to Will's lips, and held his head until he had taken a few sips.

His thirst assuaged somewhat, Will blinked and smiled shyly. "How many days?"

"Ten. I managed to keep your temperature down but the fever was pernicious." Dr Lecter gazed at his patient fondly. "Much of the major damage to the house has been repaired, thanks to your excellent plans, so you have little need to worry on that score, though you kept trying to get out of bed to confer with Hayes."

Blushing, the American ducked a little lower in the sheets. Then he remembered that this was not his bed at all. His cheeks darkened even further as he asked, "Have I... Did I, um, soil... your bed?" He hoped Dr Lecter said that this was not his bed, that he had not slept in the count's bed for ten whole days, tainting it with his presence-

"No," said Dr Lecter, "you were a very polite patient, generally managing to let me know when you needed the necessary." When Will hid his face with the thick covers, the count tugged it down and grinned at him, revealing his idiosyncratically sharp teeth. "I was a doctor in a hospital, Will. I have dealt with far worse."

On hearing Dr Lecter say his name, the tender roll of his accent wrapped around the single syllable, Will could feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom thick and uncontrolled over his face and neck. A strange tingle crept low in his abdomen, warming the pit of his gut, weighing heavy between his legs. He shifted, abashed, and shuffled to sit up. The count leaned over and helped him, his firm grip sending darts of pleasure dancing over Will's skin beneath his thin shirt.

"I am sorry for falling ill," said Will quickly. "I'd repay you for the time missed-"

"Will, you are under no obligation to do that," said Dr Lecter. He took one of Will's hands and petted it, unaware that Will's focus had been dragged sharply to the feel of the doctor's skin on his own. "You are a guest, as I've said. Phyllis told me that you had worked yourself into the wee hours of the night while I was away in London, and you worked alongside the men from the town, stopping only when they stopped."

"I-I wanted to make sure you'd come home to a house that was safe and warm."

"And instead, I came home to find Phyllis and Burns fussing over your unconscious form on the stairs." The count's tone was lightly teasing, but his eyes betrayed far too clearly the fear and worry he had felt. As if he sensed Will's scrutiny, he added in a murmur, "I would not have Raudonis Hall claim you too, Will Graham."

Will should respond, he should say something. Yet he could not look away from the older man's deep eyes with its curious red-brown tint, could not look away from the deep well of emotion the other man was laying bare to him. His hand, although limp and shaky, grasped the count's fingers gratefully. There was a catch in his throat that he could not swallow down, and abruptly he feared opening his mouth, feared the words that would tumble stupidly from his tongue.

He was saved when they heard footsteps. Dr Lecter stood up and straightened some papers on the end-table, resolutely looking away from Will.

"Dr Lecter, the tincture you wanted. Mr Graham? Oh, the Lord bless you." Mrs Crawford walked in and set down a tray. She stood at the foot of the bed, wreathed in a relieved smile. "I should have insisted you went to bed at a reasonable hour, Mr Graham. Instead you nearly caught your death of cold."

"I'm quite all right, Mrs Crawford," said Will, smiling. "It was my own fault."

"Dr Lecter has been ceaseless in his care," she went on. "Such luck that he came home as he did."

"Indeed," said Dr Lecter, calm and detached once more. "Thank you, Phyllis. Do see to the men's tea, and if Hayes can stay for supper, he can apprise Mr Graham of the progress and set his mind at ease."

Mrs Crawford bobbed a brief curtsy. "Certainly, Dr Lecter. I'll inform him now."

Once she was out of the room, Dr Lecter defrosted and returned to his seat on the side of the bed. "Now that the fever is broken, you must eat something proper. Phyllis will make something fortifying for you, and after that you should take a bath. I have washed you every day, but a hot bath is always a balm for the bones."

The thought of Dr Lecter washing him made his skin prickle delightedly. He nibbled his lower lip and nodded, feeling completely exposed to the older man and strangely comforted by the notion.

*****

It was delicious to slide into hot water, to feel the heat drawing chill out from his bones. Dr Lecter had helped him into the bathroom and drew him a bath, and graciously left him to shed his clothes. If a bath had felt this good before, Will could not remember it. The washcloth was pleasantly rough against his skin and caught on the soft bristles of his beard. He scrubbed himself slowly - he still had some difficulty breathing when he exerted himself - and the texture of rough cloth on bare skin brought to the surface of his mind other sensations.

With his hand separated from his skin by the washcloth, Will could imagine it being another person's hand. The feel of another's hand, rubbing over his belly, his groin, the join of his hips to his lean thighs, made much thinner from his illness. A firm, confident hand, wiping away stale sweat, all the way to his feet and back up the other leg. Up his neck, under his jaw, over his ears; down his arms, his chest, his nipples, down his sides. His cock stirred, growing heavy and warm even in the bath. Swallowing, Will darted a glance at the open doorway. Only a few paces away was the doctor, waiting, just in case Will needed help. But the help he wanted right now... Will licked his lips. 

This was  _naughty_.

Will wrapped the washcloth around his erect cock and stroked carefully. Once, twice, over the cloth, and then he slipped his hand under it, as though ashamed to see himself so touched; he stuffed the knuckles of his right hand into his mouth to bite back the breathless moans threatening to escape his throat. Then behind, to cup his balls, and lower, into the secret place, where he ached to feel the touch of a different hand, and more than a hand.

His breath shuddered and he bit the inside of his lip. Not yet, not now.

_He might hear me._

Reluctantly, Will stopped touching himself. He shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths, running his mind through the dimensions of the various rooms of Raudonis Hall. When he judged himself calm enough, he got out of the bath and emptied it. Water gurgled noisily down the drain. Will dried himself quickly and tugged on a robe, already feeling the pull of sleep.

_"How did your sister taste?"_

Will turned around and saw a blond woman lying in the tub. head lying where he had laid his own head. Suddenly, she slipped down, struggling violently, as though she was being pulled under water - water that Will  _knew_ he had let drain - and as he watched in horrified terror, clear water turned red, clay red, blood red-

Scrambling out of the bathroom, Will collided with a broad chest and looked up into Dr Lecter's concerned face. 

"Woman, bathtub, drowning - red water, blood - I can't-"

"Will, calm yourself." The older man's tone was firm and commanding, his grip of Will reassuringly tight. He pulled Will to standing and braced the younger man against himself; his warmth seeped through Will's damp robe. Will felt the hammering of his heart slow as Dr Lecter held him. When he was calm enough, he gently pulled away from the doctor, who kept his hands on Will's shoulders. Dr Lecter peered into his face. "What happened?"

"I saw... I saw a blonde woman, drowning. She said something about - about a sister. 'How did your sister taste?' That's what she said. I could... I could still be sick, maybe it's in my head."

Dr Lecter's expression flickered so quickly that Will did not quite catch it. The count patted Will lightly before striding into the bathroom, and then emerging almost immediately.

"There's no one there," he said. Ushering Will back into the bedroom, Dr Lecter immediately checked on his temperature. After a while, he said with a small smile, "No fever either."

Will shivered and hugged himself around his middle. "Were there... have there been violent deaths here?"

"It's an old house," Dr Lecter replied obliquely. "With its history, I suppose anything is possible." He tucked Will in and turned to leave, but Will snatched and grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Will?"

"That night, that night when I caught the fever," Will blurted, "I saw a man fall from the roof. And he transformed into this... this monster with stag horns, and I can't help - Hannibal, I think I'm losing my mind."

A strange light came into the doctor's eyes, but he only brushed Will's hair from his brow and pressed his large, warm hand against Will's cheek. "Nothing of that sort is happening. Your mind was too taxed from the work, that's all. When you are stronger, we'll go for a drive. You've not really seen the full extent of the estate, and I'd like to take you to town for some treats."

Will chewed on his lower lip. The count was being generous and kind, that was all, and Will was as good as an invalid, which accounted for the gentle treatment. He made himself smile at the older man and willed himself to sleep, praying all the while that he would not dream.

*****

It was another three days before Will was declared fit to be up and about. In the meantime, despite Will's fears, no more apparitions came to haunt him. It was a relief, though Will still worried that he might be losing his grip on his sanity. 

Dr Lecter was as good as his word - once Will was able to walk down the stairs by himself, the doctor had Burns prepare the horse and carriage. "Town or the estate?" 

"The estate, please," said Will. He felt unaccountably shy, seated beside the count as they clattered off. The estate was fairly large; right on the borders, they could just make out the top floor of Raudonis Hall. Dr Lecter pointed out the creek, the remains of a lightning-struck tree, small wooden shacks ("for the miners when the rains get heavy and they have to wait it out") near the open mine shaft, and the huge metal contraption that had been by the front courtyard when they first arrived. Dr Lecter talked at length about the steam-driven machine, designed by an aspiring engineer, to haul out clay at three times the speed of laborers. Unfortunately, the gears tended to stick with the clay getting into the workings, and they had yet to find a solution. Will examined it, poked curiously at axles and chains, and listened attentively. He asked questions that the doctor delighted in answering, and both of them got their hands dirty fiddling about with various levers and cranks.

By the time they got to town, it was near evening, and heavy clouds amassed overhead. "We could put up here for the night." The doctor handed the reins to one of the town's sole inn's workers. "Mr and Mrs Hobbs keep a few rooms for the passing traveler or those riding first class on the stage. If my weather eye has not failed me, that's a right thunderstorm overhead."

"Sure," said Will. "Shall we have our dinner? I'm starving."

*****

He wished he had not agreed so readily to staying overnight. The Hobbs only had one room left, because of an unexpected broken axle on a stage. It would have been strange to refuse, and so Will had to pretend he was not full of trepidation at sleeping in the same bed as Dr Lecter.

The storm was tremendous, slashing light across the skies, the dim room flashing every now and then in bursts of blinding white. Thunder crashed like falling mountains. Curled on his side of the bed, Will could not sleep, partly due to the storm outside, and partly because of the handsome man in the bed behind him.

He had tried not to stare as Dr Lecter shed his clothes for sleeping, but his imagination supplied him with more lurid pictures. At least he just had to last through the night; he could claim fatigue tomorrow and rest in bed. It would be believable.

"Am I keeping you up?" The soft, accented voice crept like honey over Will's skin. "This must be quite uncomfortable for you."

"It's... it's quite alright."

"As long as you can find some rest," murmured Dr Lecter.

Will swallowed. "I'm sure I will."


	5. Chapter 5

It was completely dark when Will woke. The fire in the grate had gone out, and outside, the rain was as relentless as when he had dozed off into an uneasy sleep. He took a moment to remember where he was, and then his heart lurched when he realized he was pressed against a warm body. His cheek was nuzzled into a furred chest, his limbs curled possessively over firm, strong legs and torso, and he could hear the soft snuffles of the man he was sharing a bed with.

His breath caught in his throat. He had dreamed of this, too often since he came into Dr Lecter's employ, and this could be a dream still-

The doctor shifted, and something hard brushed against Will's thigh. Dr Lecter made a pleasurable sound and did it again, asleep and unaware that Will's cheeks flamed hot and his own cock was started to respond in kind. An ache gathered below his belly, in his groin, and his erection jutted into the side of Dr Lecter's waist. The slow roll of Dr Lecter's hips against Will's leg meant he was also rubbing over Will's erect cock, and the sensation was too tantalizing; Will bit down on his lower lip, but could not swallow the quietly hungry moan that escaped from his mouth.

Dr Lecter suddenly froze. His breathing pattern altered almost immediately, from the unconscious belly-deep inhalations to utter silence, though Will could feel the great chest expand and contract.

"Will?" Dr Lecter whispered.

If he had not spoken, Will would have been content to pretend this was not happening. But his name in Dr Lecter's mouth, that careful roll of his accent around that one syllable... Will swallowed and his fingers twitched.

Perhaps they could just separate casually, pretend nothing happened.

Perhaps he could escape in the morning.

"Will, I... May I kiss you?" Dr Lecter's voice was so hesitant and so tender that it made Will's heart  _ache_ with longing.

_Oh God,_ thought Will, and then shoved the thought of God aside. He was not welcome here, not at this moment. This was bad, this was _sin,_ and he knew he would give in regardless of the threat of eternal damnation. With another quick clutch of his fingers on Dr Lecter's shoulder, Will clung closer and whispered, "Yes, please."

The first kiss was tentative and shy; Dr Lecter gently rolled Will onto his back, and then sought his lips with his fingers first and then with his lips. He was a darker shadow pressing Will down with his confident hands, hands that Will had dreamed about ever since the day they met. The weight of the older man rested reassuringly on Will; this was no dream.

The first kiss melded into the second, this one with the older man sliding his tongue into Will's gladly open mouth. Other than a faint sourness of sleep and the vague taste of tobacco, Dr Lecter was ambrosia. Quietly, Will moaned into the kiss, his arms going around the doctor's broad back and shoulders, and his legs parted, yearning to wrap around Dr Lecter's waist, yearning to be filled in the most sinful of ways.

Dr Lecter finally pulled away when it was getting hard for them to breathe. "Oh, Will... how I've dreamed of this-"

"When did you know?" Will asked, lips tingling. He struggled free of his shirt, needing to feel Dr Lecter as close to him as possible. His fingers crept up the doctor's back and tangled into silky strands. When he tugged, Dr Lecter's breath hitched. An odd thrill ran through the younger man at drawing this sound from the stern, controlled Dr Lecter.

"When we first met, and we shook hands." Dr Lecter kissed Will's cheek, the corner of his mouth. "I suspected. And then, when you accepted my invitation to leave your home so far behind you, throughout our journey... I knew. I knew but I couldn't. You only ever watched, you never tried anything beyond that."

Will laughed breathlessly. "How could I? You're a widower. And you - you employed me-"

"-engaged you-"

"-you're paying me a handsome sum for helping to restore Raudonis Hall," Will murmured, only half his mind on his words; the other half was luxuriating on the keen, sharp pleasure of Dr Lecter rubbing his erection over his own; even through their clothes, it was nearly unbearable. It was electric between them; he could feel his blood pumping where their skin were in contact. Outside of the sheets, it was cold. It didn't matter, as long as the doctor's weight was resting wonderfully on Will.

The count buried his nose against Will's neck and shoulder. His voice was shaking, his frame trembling. "To London I tried to run, and still - still we come to this-"

"I thought of you, every night," Will confessed on a whisper. "I'm glad, I'm glad it came to this- oh Lord, please- I worked as hard as I could so I had no chance to think of you, but I did, every night, imagined you coming into the room- taking me-"

"I will take you right now if I could," Dr Lecter swore. His accent had thickened considerably. He skimmed a hand from Will's throat to his pants, sliding it in on Will's next undulation, and Will had to choke back a soft cry.

"I had been tempted. Two months in the same hotel rooms, and you so beautiful-" the count pressed kisses over Will's brow. "I didn't dare, you could've run, but here we are and you - you are _transcendent._ "

Will could no longer form coherent speech. His attention was solely on the warm grip around his erection, the dry hand spreading the slickness from the head of his cock over the shaft. Desperately clinging to the man above him, lips pressed against a damp shoulder, Will thrust into that grip, yearning and fearing his imminent climax.

"My name, Will, please, as you did before," Dr Lecter whispered hotly. "My name. Say it, Will, my love, please-"

"Hannibal," Will gasped soundlessly, cleaving up into the count's strength and vigor, cleaving to his obvious want and clear desire; "Hann- Hannibal, please-"

He spilled his mess into the older man's hand, his hips tense and his body spasming as he soared through his release. All he could see was a vague black shape hovering over him, covetous. He shuddered and bit his cheek to cut the cry perched beneath his chin.

Probably hearing Will use his name pushed Dr Lecter to his own climax. Will heard a shuffle of cloth and then the doctor was stroking himself, his breaths coming hard and fast as he remained perched over WIll. And abruptly, a choked breath, a half-formed word, and the hot, wet stripes fell on Will.

It was _filthy._ Will loved it.

Dr Lecter cradled Will close even as they slowly faded from their climax. With a harsh, breathy laugh, the doctor said, "I'll take you when we have returned to the Hall. I will take you against my bed, watch you lose yourself to me. I can picture you now, and I know - I know what I imagine will be less than a hundredth of your beauty in surrender. I'll love you with my entire being, worship you from head to toe... Will, I will not be parted from you again."

The promise sizzled like a brand against his ribs. Will trembled and kissed Dr Lecter on his alpine cheeks, feeling the older man's scruff on his lips. "I give you everything," Will vowed. "We are conjoined, you and I, and I won't allow anything to part us."

They lay there, sharing indulgent kisses, until Dr Lecter decided to venture towards the grate and start up the fire again, and he returned with a bit of damp cloth to clean them both up. On unspoken accord, they put on their clothes again, and curled together in a tangle of limbs.

They would have to present themselves as friends, of course, but here and now, in this shabby little room, with the storm raging without and warmth and light within, they could be lovers. Bringing his lover's - such a wonderful word! - hand to his lips, Will pressed a bashful kiss on Dr Lecter's knuckles, and fell into a restful, calm sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning light struggled in through the grimy window. The inn stirred to life. Will blinked and yawned, belatedly realizing that the heavy weight over his waist was a muscled arm, leading back to a firm shoulder, joined to a handsome doctor who was _now_   _his lover-_

"Nnnghh. Mornings," Dr Lecter grumbled and kissed the back of Will's neck. It was only the barest application of pressure, but Will could feel the tingle all the way to his toes. "I detest mornings. They always start too early."

Will smothered a smile in his hand. This was the best morning he had ever woken up to; if this was how every morning went, he would count himself blessed. Surreptitiously peering over his shoulder, he saw Dr Lecter's naked back, his slim hips swaying imperceptibly as he moved about the room.

Possibly Dr Lecter felt the scrutiny. He did not turn around but the smile was evident in his voice. "Get dressed, Will. We'll hurry home and see what Phyllis has prepared for us. I'm quite certain she will scold us for dawdling here last night."

"I'm glad we dawdled," said Will quietly, sitting up and hugging his knees. "It's lovely to be away from the hall, even for a little while."

"Yes, it was," agreed the count. He exhaled. "But always I return to it. If it were just another parcel of land, I'd sell it."

Will started getting dressed. He needed to trim his beard, or perhaps to shave it off, though that made him look too young. "So why don't you? I mean, the house is beautiful, but the work we're putting into it and the expenses it's incurring... It'd be more valuable torn down, to be quite honest."

Dr Lecter glanced at him and smiled sadly. "It's all I have of my family."

*****

It was rather foggy. At least it was no longer raining, though mud squelched sickeningly beneath their shoes. The horses were restless too.

Dr Lecter and Will were very proper and polite until the moment the carriage was well out of sight of the town. Dr Lecter drove the horses himself, but he slowed the carriage and took Will's right hand with his left. They sat that way, hand in hand, until Raudonis Hall loomed up ahead again.

"Dr Lecter, how much work did you say the men have completed?"

"The roof and the cellars. I believe they will redo the tile and go through the rooms, fill in any cracks." The older man squeezed Will's hand. "Will you not address me by my name, dear Will?"

Will blushed. "I don't wish to seem too familiar, and others might talk."

"And when will you call me by name, dear Will?"

"You know when," said the younger man, squeezing the doctor's hand in return, shy and tempting.

Dr Lecter leaned over. "I look forward to it."

*****

As expected, Mrs Crawford did scold them for worrying her, but she had prepared piping hot porridge and a pot of thick dark coffee. 

"My husband is home on leave, Dr Lecter. May I be excused for the next two days?"

"Ah yes, you did mention it. I'm sure we can manage for two days, Phyllis, and there are plenty of meats and cheeses in the cold room." The doctor inclined his head gracefully. "Give my best to Mr Crawford."

Will focused on eating the porridge, but all he could think about was  _Two days! Two days of solitude, of just us-_

"The men are plastering the walls of the third floor, and redoing the tiles for the entryway," said Mrs Crawford. "Hayes said further work would have to wait until spring when the rains have eased."

"That's nearly five months away," said Dr Lecter. He sounded annoyed and resigned.

Will swallowed his mouthful. "I can do the indoor work, as long as I have the materials. With the roof covered, the inside is in a much better condition to be restored."

Dr Lecter smiled indulgently at Will, who averted his eyes and stared in his bowl. The older man said, "If you insist, Mr Graham. At least we shan't have snow falling into the house."

*****

They restrained themselves for the better part of the day. Will checked every part of the house that had been worked on, accompanied by Hayes and a lack of stamina, ticking off what he had planned out before the start of the restoration.

It was nearly sundown by the time Will had looked over everything to his satisfaction. The work done in his absence had been quite stellar. Hayes noticeably preened when Will said as much, though he wilted a little when Will pointed out the slight misalignment of floor tiles in the entryway.

"A minor problem that I can fix myself, Hayes, thank you."

"Then there's no need for the men tomorrow?"

"Not yet," said Dr Lecter, sliding smoothly into the conversation as he emerged from the kitchen. "I want to get the mine drained and reopened before spring, but that would require Mr Graham to work his magic on the machine."

Will blinked. "I'm not certain if I can manage-"

"Of course you can, look at the marvelous plan you've laid out for restoring the hall." The doctor smiled approvingly, if slightly too distant, and went on, "Mr Graham and I will spend a couple of days reexamining the drainage pump and the machinery, and if we need new parts, that would be another two to three weeks before they can be delivered."

Hayes made a face. "Ach, the men will need time for other work. Let me know when you need us, Dr Lecter."

"Certainly. Come into the study, let us settle the outstanding sum. Oh, Mr Graham, you should be in bed. You're not recovered enough." The older man inclined his head and gestured for Hayes to precede him into the study, so only Will caught the fondly teasing glint in Dr Lecter's eyes. "Go on now. I'll bring dinner up later."

*****

Will dithered over which bedroom to enter. The one that had his belongings, or the one he had been sleeping in? Nervously tugging on the cuff of his left sleeve, he went into the bedroom where his possessions had been stashed. He remembered the machine Dr Lecter -  _Hannibal, I can call him by his name in private now -_ had pointed out to him, picture it in excruciating detail. He ought to sketch it out and see how much of it he recalled. His heart beat rapidly like a wild bird against an unexpected cage; he knew tonight was the night, that he would be taken by the doctor -  _by Hannibal -_ and the knowledge was a burning coal in the pit of his stomach.

Trebia the cat lay curled in the middle of the bed, barely opening an eye to acknowledge Will's return. She purred and stretched lazily when he perched on the side to scratch her belly, but made no move to evict herself from the premises. 

"Look at you, all cozy and relaxed," he muttered under his breath. "Well, I couldn't possibly shove you off when you've made yourself so comfortable." 

It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but he grabbed his notebook and pencil and slipped into the other bedroom quickly. After starting a fire in the fireplace, he settled himself at the table and began to sketch. Pencil skated over thin paper, rendering the machine into its parts, some which he recalled seeing and some he assumed were present. Dr Lecter would know if he was right. The firelight was warm on his face, bringing color to his cheeks.

Suddenly he felt an icy gust sweep through him. Jolted from his thoughts, Will looked up from his drawing and nearly screamed.

Right above the fireplace, where a painting of a stag dominated, was a blond girl hung on antlers. She was young, probably child of eight or nine, and bleeding black through her white frock. Every drop that landed on the carpet sizzled into nothing.

Will covered his mouth, unable to tear his eyes away.

The girl raised her head. She was crying, but no sound came from her open mouth.

*****

"Will, my love, wake up."

Jerking up into a sitting position, Will gasped for breath. Sweat beaded his brow and temples. He gazed bleakly at Dr Lecter. "I think... I think I'm going mad."


	7. Chapter 7

To his credit, Dr Lecter did not laugh off Will's worries. Instead, he sat Will on the bed and brushed his curls from his face, peering into worried eyes. His hand was very warm, and Will leaned into the touch with a noiseless sigh.

"Why do you say so, dear Will?" he asked. "Your fever has not returned, as far as I can tell, and your color is much improved."

"I see dead people." Will swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. "I see them... dying. Not people I know, but... there was a man, a man who fell from the open roof, and a blonde woman who drowned in the tub, and just now - just now there was a girl, pierced and hung from a rack of black antlers... I don't understand- I don't know these people, and they keep appearing to me-"

The count gently pulled Will forward into his arms and soothed him, caressing his neck and back. At first it felt silly, being petted like a child, but Will soon relaxed into the embrace. Dr Lecter - Hannibal - smelled wonderful, and he was so warm against the pervasive chill of fear and doubt. Outside the hall, the wind rose and started its eerie howling. Will clutched convulsively on Hannibal's waistcoat. 

Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to Will's brow. "This is a very old house," he said, taking Will's hands in his, "and perhaps those lost spirits wish to make themselves known to a newcomer. I've grown up here and I have never seen any ghosts, but my aunt swore that this place was haunted. I didn't believe her then, but perhaps I should have taken her words more seriously."

Will blinked and sniffed. "You... you believe - I'm not losing my mind?"

"No, my dear, you are quite sane. I do believe that you've seen what you said you've seen. I wish you didn't have to; they must have been rather disturbing." Hannibal cupped Will's cheek and smiled sadly. "I am sorry to have brought you here-" His words were cut off when Will put a finger to his lips.

"I'd rather see ghosts all my life than to go a day without you," Will declared, bold now that he was assured of Hannibal's reciprocal feelings. "Ghosts can't hurt us. They cannot hurt me. And when I'm with you, I don't see them."

Hannibal leaned in, his breath tickling the hairs on Will's upper lip. "Then let's not see them."

*****

Will Graham had known he was doomed to hell since he was fourteen. His best friend then had whistled at one of the bonny girls where they and their fathers were working, and Will had noticed then how pink his friend's mouth had been, and the strong lines of his neck and shoulders. He had said nothing but ducked his head, mortified at his own thoughts. He had thought he would be struck to death that Sunday in church, but instead he sang hymns in his shaky boyish voice, sneaking glances at his best friend in his Sunday best.

By the time Will's father passed away, eighteen-year-old Will had known he would never have a lover. He might still marry, still have children. Maybe some dogs. But he had been resigned to never knowing how it would feel to kiss or touch someone he loved. He would never fuck someone he loved, and (often this thought would come with an illicit thrill of shame) be fucked by someone he loved.

There were means if he had been after the physical pleasures only, of course. Even at eighteen he had been aware of the murkier side of life. His father had tried to keep their little family respectable and decent, but salacious scandals and gossip spread fast. He had been tempted, but fear of being discovered and a reluctance to allow a stranger to touch him that intimately kept Will from venturing there. He had tried his best to imagine it. of course: tentative explorations of his own body, breaching himself with shaking fingers to find out if imagination matched up to reality (reality was no match for imagination, alas).

Will had given up hope for more by the time he was twenty-three.

At twenty-six, he had met Miss Alana Bloom.

At twenty-eight, he was recommended to Count Hannibal Lecter.

*****

And now, the same Count Hannibal Lecter gently and inexorably bore Will down to the bed on a deep kiss. Dexterous fingers undid Will's buttons and helped him out of his shirt, while Will fought the older man's buttons with digits made clumsy with shy desire. With every inch of skin bared, Hannibal's gaze darkened, and he diligently applied his mouth to naked skin. Heat coruscated and flared through Will's body with every touch of the doctor's lips.

Hannibal shrugged off his shirt without looking away from Will. The firelight threw strange shadows onto the painted ceiling, but Will's focus was solely on the man before him. With a small, hungry smile, Hannibal pulled off Will's trousers and bared him to the older man's scrutiny. Will felt his cheeks grow hot and he had to avert his gaze; his fingers clutched and tugged uneasily on the deep blue sheets beneath him.

"Look at me, Will." The authority in Hannibal's voice brooked no disobedience. Will gulped and looked at him, and a tremor crawled lightning-fast down his spine when he met Hannibal's gaze. The count was as still as a wolf before its pounce; his great chest and belly expanded as he breathed, but aside from that Hannibal Lecter was motionless. Yet Will dared not move any more. He could feel the weight of that regard on him. Hannibal exhaled, a long and low breath. "How did anyone miss you? How did they not see?"

Will let out a slow, shaky exhalation before he started backing up on the bed. Every movement was uncoordinated, but somehow the lack of grace made Hannibal seem more intent, more ravenous. The young American fought the urge to hug a pillow. That would be far too undignified. Instead, he stretched out a hand for Hannibal.

The doctor took it and crawled onto the bed, straddling Will and once again kissing him to lie flat. Will gladly took the older man's weight. It reminded him that this was real, that he was not going mad - though the situation was hardly better, with ghosts haunting the mansion, but with Hannibal holding him the terror was kept at bay.

In its place was desire and love, far better than fear. They could discuss this later, after; he wanted to get drunk with this first, be glutted on Hannibal's love and want for him. 

The older man gazed down at him, braced on his forearms, drinking in every detail. Will blushed.

"So beautiful," Hannibal murmured, running his clever fingers down Will's chest. "Why did they not see you?"

"If they had," Will replied, "you wouldn't be seeing me now."

Hannibal smiled, fond and tender. His fingers stroked over Will's chest, shoulders, down his arm; he took Will's hand and kissed his knuckles. "I would marry you if I could."

"And I would marry you in a heartbeat," Will whispered. Then his brow creased. "Who would be the wife?"

Laughing quietly, Hannibal buried his face into Will's neck and sucked gently. "I'm sure you'd look beautiful in lace, though I have no intention of allowing you to dress yourself in virginal white after tonight."

Will's blush spread rapidly. "Am I that transparent?"

"That you are untouched?" Hannibal kissed him on the lips and murmured, "I am glad of it. Selfishly, I want you all to myself, forever and ever." 

Will tentatively placed his hands on Hannibal's waist, and as the kisses deepened, his grip tightened. Sliding his hands down, he shoved the count's trousers from him and felt smooth skin under his palms. Hannibal arched and pushed his groin against Will, their erections brushing together. With an involuntary gasp Will spread his legs, his knees bending to press his heels into the bed.

When Hannibal kissed and licked his way down Will's body, the younger man had to cover his mouth, afraid of the sounds threatening to erupt from his throat. He could not quite stifle the moan that rippled through his entire frame when he felt Hannibal's mouth wrap around his cock, tight suction and wet heat that drove rational thought from his mind. He did not even have the presence of mind to warn his lover before he crested his climax. His hips lifted off the bed, driving his cock into Hannibal's sensuous mouth as he spilled his seed.

By the time he had regained control of his senses, Hannibal was stooped over him, his lips shiny with spit and ejaculate. Tears prickled on the corners of Will's eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Hush," said Hannibal, cutting off Will's apologies with a sticky kiss. Will tasted himself on his lover's lips, and lust stirred in his gut. Hannibal slipped two of his fingers into Will's mouth. "Suck."

The implications of Hannibal's command unfurled like fire in Will's veins. He took the fingers in his mouth, curled his tongue around them as much as he could, and sucked hard. The sudden hitch in Hannibal's breath was worth his earlier embarrassment; Will let his eyelids flutter close and focused on the clean vaguely salty taste of the doctor's fingers in his mouth.

Hannibal prepared him carefully, slowly opening his body up to more. In the beginning Will could not stop tensing up, but gentle and firm kisses helped him relax. He relaxed more when Hannibal retrieved a bottle of oil that vaguely smelled of flowers and used it liberally. 

When the count finally pushed his cock into Will, the younger man was again aroused. Eyes never leaving Will's face, Hannibal slipped into his lover inch by inch, watching Will slowly fall apart and give in to pure sensation.

It hurt, at first, and then pain ebbed and brightened into pleasure. Will grabbed blindly at Hannibal, fingers digging into firm muscle. Sweat slicked the back of his thighs and over his upper lip and brow. While he was adjusting, Hannibal had not moved his hips, merely kissed and licked Will's jaw and earlobe. It was a kindness until Will could bear it no more - he clenched experimentally down on Hannibal's cock and was rewarded with a guttural groan.

"Hannibal, please, I need-" Will blinked perspiration and tears from his eyes. "I just- Please, please, I need-" He couldn't articulate what he needed, and in the light of the flames Hannibal looked golden and godlike. Reaching up to clasp a hand on the back of Hannibal's sweat-damp neck, Will arched off the pillow as best as he could for another kiss, thrusting his tongue into his lover's mouth.

The older man began to move, slight movements of his hips at first, and when Will clung to him with greater desperation he began fucking him in earnest. Will clamped his legs around Hannibal's waist and cried out, high breathy sounds escaping with every thrust into him. When Hannibal sped up, Will felt his breath catch in his throat and stars flash in his vision.

When he climaxed a second time, Will choked out Hannibal's name again, but his voice was lost amid the roaring sound in his ears. Hannibal pressed his brow to Will's cheek, his breath washing hotly over damp skin and bared neck as he peaked.

*****

Much later, after Hannibal had lovingly cleaned Will up, they rested together in the wide bed.

"We can move to the outskirts of London," said Hannibal. His finger traced idle patterns on Will's bare shoulder. "Much of my business is in London anyway, so we would have fewer days apart should I need to go into the city."

"But under what pretext would I live with you?" Will asked. He sounded very small, very lost. Sighing, he snuggled closer and winced as he shifted injudiciously. Then the grimace transformed into a shy smile when Hannibal brushed his curls from his temple. "Here, I have a reason to remain."

Hannibal hummed and curled his fingers into dark brown hair. "I do not wish for you to suffer the terrible sights of the hall's history any longer, dear Will."

 _Neither do I,_ thought Will, but he said, "This place is important to you, or you wouldn't have wanted it restored. If it's important to you, It's important to me too."

The count was silent for a long time. Outside, the wind had yet to abate; the howling wind whipped about the house and Will could hear the chimneys creaking.

Eventually, Hannibal spoke. "My family lived here and died here, except for my younger sister. For a long time I've considered selling the land since my parents passed away, but I never could bring myself to do it."

"Why not?"

"My younger sister disappeared one afternoon when I was in town with my parents. She had been ill, but she was recovering. The servants said they never saw her leave the mansion..." His voice trailed off. "My best friend was here, and she didn't see her either. I held the hope that - that I would find some trace of her, still."

Will placed a hand over Hannibal's heart. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Her name was... Her name was Mischa," said Hannibal. "She was so young, an angel. I loved her. Mother was never quite the same after Mischa's disappearance, and Father buried himself in work."

"How old were you?"

"Eight. She was four. Very bright and curious little thing, always shadowing me around the house."

Will's heart tightened. Hannibal had been holding on to his pain and his hope for decades. He kissed Hannibal and nuzzled against his jaw. "You grew up all alone in this house then."

"Not really alone," said the older man. "My best friend was a year older, and she took care of me. I loved her, and I married her. Bedelia." He inhaled and sighed again. "But the love of a child for a friend is not the love of a man for his wife; our marriage was doomed to fail, right from the start. I tried, she tried, but both of us knew we had committed a grave error in marrying each other. Yet for appearance sake we stayerd together. If she were still alive, we wouldn't have come back to Raudonis Hall. She hated this place, much as she tried to bring it back to its former glory."

Hannibal was in an expansive mood and Will did not want it to end. He had learned more about his lover in this one conversation than he had in three months. The regret and guilt in Hannibal's tone underscored how much he had valued his late wife, and with his own pang of guilt Will found himself glad that he was not competing with a dead woman for Hannibal's love.

"This house, as it stands, is largely my wife's efforts. I have little love for the building but I respect her efforts, and so while I still have hope..." Hannibal trailed off. "However, if you wish, we would live elsewhere. If not London, then Paris, or even Florence. I can do my work in those cities too, over the telegram, while Chilton manages the day to day minutiae."

"There is no need to rush this decision," said Will. He patted Hannibal on his sternum. "At the very least, let us finish the foyer and the basement. If we can keep the mine from flooding, that would help this place survive a little longer, and you can profit from the red clay mine."

Hannibal chuckled and kissed Will. "Yes. _We_ shan't rush this. And whatever our decision, wherever we go, you will come with me."

The one kiss turned to many. Lulled by their shared tenderness, Will drifted into sleep, feeling warm and safe.

*****

When Will woke, he was standing in the kitchen with a knife in his hand and the blade at his throat.

The blonde woman whom he had seen drown in the tub was staring at him through milky eyes. Her flesh was bloated and her skin distended, yellowed and bluish. 

 _A ghost,_ Will thought, but his hand stayed at his throat. He could not move at all.

"Go on then," whispered the apparition. "One quick slash and it'll be over. You won't see any of us anymore."

Will could already feel blood running down his throat, pooling at his feet. A veritable river of blood, gushing from the taps and from under the tiles. She was right, it would be easy. He needed only to press the ice-slick blade deeper- 

"No!" 

A strong arm wrapped about his naked middle and a hand gripped his wrist, dug into the tendons to force his fingers to release their grasp on the knife hilt. The blonde faded away in a blink, leaving only an empty chair.

Will inhaled sharply and his knees buckled, realizing what nearly transpired. Behind him, Hannibal held him up, cradled him close enough that the chill of the room was nearly unnoticeable. The older man was shaking, practically sobbing with relief, and Will turned his face into Hannibal's neck.

"We should move out of here," Will muttered. His fingers were numbed. His heart beat like a dozen hammers working a forge. "I don't think the ghosts like me much."


	8. Chapter 8

Having wrapped Will up in a thick afghan blanket, Hannibal carried him all the way up the stairs without saying a word. Will just clung to his lover, still shaken. His mind was an empty, roaring gray; his thoughts were undefined shadows and mist.

Once they got back to the bedroom, Hannibal stoked the fire and had it roaring again. Will stared blankly at the dancing flames, his fingers curled into the blanket around his shoulders. Only after Hannibal gathered him into his arms did Will release a long, trembling sigh.

"Why me?" he asked, barely a whisper uttered against the hollow of Hannibal's throat.

"I don't know," Hannibal admitted. His fingers combed through Will's curls, slow and meditative, and said, "Why not Hayes or Burns or Phyllis? Why you?"

Suddenly Will knew. The revelation exploded in his chest and it became hard to swallow. He closed his eyes. "It's me, because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Because we're in love." The sob that followed that statement was wholly involuntary. Will curled against Hannibal, seeking comfort even as cold realization seeped into his marrow. "They do not want me here."

Hannibal's fingers twitched on Will's arm. "The ghosts you've seen - you mentioned... you mentioned a blonde woman, drowning?"

"She was there in the kitchen too." Will did not like mentioning her; it felt like he was poisoning the air between him and Hannibal. 

"We have to leave immediately. Get dressed, my love, I will drive us to town and we will leave-"

"Hannibal, why-"

The older man pulled off the blanket and gripped Will's shoulders. With a gentle but firm shake, Hannibal said, "I will tell you when we are safely away from here. Get dressed, please."

It was the haunted look in Hannibal's eyes that decided the American. Will quickly pulled on his clothes and shrugged on the coat Hannibal dug out of one of the wardrobes. Hannibal put on gloves and took Will by the hand.

"Whatever happens, I promise I will get you out of here."

"Hannibal, I don't need you to promise that."

"I have to," said the doctor. "This is my fault."

Will gripped Hannibal's hand. "Promise me that we will be together, whatever happens."

Instead of answering, Hannibal kissed Will. Desperation, fear, longing, and fierce love; Will nearly reeled from all the emotions he could sense pouring from his lover. Has it only been two days since they confessed their feelings? Will felt he could read Hannibal's every single thought.

*****

They hurtled down the steps towards the door, with no luggage other than an extra set of clothes for each of them in a carry-case along with some money. However, when they were three paces from the door, both of them were sent flying back across the foyer.

Will pushed himself to a sitting position to see the blonde woman, her hair dripping wet with black water running in rivulets down her nude body. "Hannibal, she's here."

_"Where do you think you're going?"_ she asked.

"Bedelia," Hannibal said. He was staring at the ghost, but his voice - Will gaped at the fury in his voice. "Your quarrel is with me. Leave him be."

The ghost lifted her chin, arrogant and defiant as a queen. "He usurped my place. My quarrel is with him."

"Will, get out of here-"

_"No one is going anywhere."_ Bedelia shot Will a venomous look from her clouded eyes. The glass in all the windows shattered abruptly, raining shards of silver onto them. Wind and rain invaded the hall with wild abandon, whipping up the curtains and tearing down the portraits from the walls. 

"Will, watch out!" Hannibal shouted, and was thrown into a wall for his trouble. The older man crumpled to a heap, apparently knocked out. 

Will ducked a heavy gilt frame just in time, rolling out of the way. He got to his feet shakily in the middle of the room, his palms cut by the broken shards. "What have I done to you?"

_"What have you done, whore? You took Hannibal from me. Hannibal,_ " said the ghost, advancing on Will coldly, " _is mine. He has been mine since we were children. Again and again people like you try to take him from me. Not any more."_ With a wave of her arm, she flung Will against the stair banister. He cried out and climbed onto the steps, heading upwards. 

Bedelia followed behind, forcing Will to head upwards. Below them, Will saw Hannibal stir. That buoyed him up, but he had no way of getting past Bedelia. Something in what she said gave Will pause.

"People like _me?"_ he asked, fingers scraping the sides of the walls, trying to steady himself. The water dripping from Bedelia hissed into nothing as the droplets hit the floor. "How many have there been?"

She smiled. It was not a pleasing sight.  _"Enough. You are just the latest in a string of affairs he's used to get back at me. He knows better than to bring you here, to my home-"_

That stung like acid. Will kept his composure. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal climbing the stairs, keeping close to the wall. He had to keep the ghost's attention on himself, and blurted, "Tell me. Tell me who they were."

_"Beautiful Anthony Dimmond, poet and sensualist. Followed me up to the roof to look at the stars, fell to earth and looked at nothing more."_ They were already on the third landing. One more and they would be at the elevator.

_"Cassie Boyle. Silly little thing, poking her nose where it didn't belong."_

Will held on to the banister. His mouth was dry. "Cassie Boyle - the young girl?"

_"She adored Hannibal, that puny little bitch. As if Hannibal would have touched a lowly undergrown servant girl."_

Then Will knew. He knew it like he knew Hannibal had done something terrible. "You killed Mischa."

Bedelia raised her chin. _"Little cunt. Hannibal was mine until she appeared."_

"How did you get rid of her?"

_"It was so easy to tell her we were going to play."_ The smile on the bloated and ruined face made Will's skin crawl. Bedelia leered and said in a sweet little-girl voice, _"Shall we play, Willie? Let's go play."_

*****

Will had a vivid imagination.

He could picture things as they were supposed to be, picking out details and clues as to how events unfolded and grew and twisted and changed until they became what he saw. That was what made him a good engineer and great at repairing and restoring houses.

Sometimes, he could also imagine what happened to people. From their behavior and words, he could infer what happened before. His imagination was why he had not dared approach Miss Alana Bloom even when she had tried to be his friend: he knew he was not what she had been looking for. It was why he had not stopped Miss Alana's marriage to the repugnant Mason Verger - he had seen Miss Margot, and he had known. 

Now he saw Bedelia.

Saw her selfish obsession, her single-mindedness, her need to _possess._  

She kept coming at him until he was braced against the closed gate of the elevator. The metal creaked obscenely as he collided into it. Then she was on him, her clammy hands on his throat, her bearing imperious even as she choked him.

Will tried to wrangle her lifeless hands from him, but she was inhumanly strong; stars swam before his eyes. His knees buckled but she lifted him, kept him on the tips of his toes.

"Bedelia, please, he's innocent," Hannibal rasped. He had finally made it up to the top. His gaze was imploring even as the ghost lowered Will slightly. "Kill me. I was the one - I murdered you. I am guilty. Let Will go."

She dropped him. Will gasped for breath and wished he had not heard that, even as blood pounded in his ears and life filled his lungs.

The drowning. Hannibal had drowned Bedelia, quite deliberately. His lover was a murderer.

_"You think an apology would suffice?"_ she sneered.  _"When you owe everything to me? Your business? Your education? This house, this house that **I** poured my heart and soul and blood and sweat into?"_

"No."

Hannibal and Bedelia both glanced over. It would have been amusing, if not for the rotting features on the ghost's face. Will stood and licked his lips. 

"No," he repeated. "Not anymore. This house - we restored it, took apart what you did wrong. Hayes' men, they are the ones who sweated for it. Hannibal owes you nothing. His business is still standing, even without you. His education - he earned it. He worked for it."

_"If my family hadn't offered his a loan-"_ Bedelia hissed.

"Your family's money isn't yours," said Will. "And you - you killed Mischa first. Whatever else he did... you killed a four-year-old little girl."

Bedelia turned to regard Hannibal, who looked terribly pale. _"You never answered me. How did your sister taste, husband?"_

Will felt blood drain from his face. A nine-year-old girl, going to such lengths... Surreptitiously he pressed the button to the elevator and the machinery cranked to life. Bedelia whirled about and grabbed Will by the throat again.

_"I will chain your dead body to him,"_ she whispered. Will could not feel any breath from her, but a wet, putrid stench washed over his face regardless.  _"See how long it'll take for him to take that first fleshy bite."_

Hannibal rushed them, but Bedelia waved her other hand and threw Hannibal down the stairs. Will tried to call out but he had no voice, no air. The ghost cocked her head. _"I watched him fuck you, you vile, low-born whore. Watched you spread yourself for him. I am going to run you through with a poker, right where he entered you-"_ Her threat was cut off abruptly when the door to the mansion crashed open.

Phyllis Crawford and a broad-shouldered man stood there, side by side. The housekeeper pointed at Bedelia and Will. "There she is."

The man bared a gap-toothed grin. "Sorry about the intrusion, sirs. Jack Crawford, at your service."


	9. Chapter 9

Will clawed at his throat but Bedelia's grip did not relax. He kicked as hard as he could, unbalancing the ghost's hold somewhat, and gasped in a much-needed lungful of air.

" _Enough_ ," Bedelia snarled. She hurled him against the wall, right next to Hannibal. "I have plans for you later, you twitchy little whore. And you, husband, you stay right where you are until I get back, or I will cut off his head and serve you his brain."

Silently Hannibal cradled Will against himself. The older man was trembling, Will discovered, his rage radiating furnace-hot. Bedelia ignored his wrathful gaze, choosing to descend the stairs at an unhurried pace.

The man who identified himself as Jack Crawford took off his broad-brimmed hat and unholstered two guns. Will shifted backwards instinctively, seeking refuge in Hannibal, who wrapped strong arms around his waist. 

"Do you think bullets will hurt me?" Bedelia asked, her voice even and calm. "I, who am already dead?"

"Well, ma'am," said Jack, taking aim, "these are not your everyday bullets."

He fired off three shots, one landing in Bedelia's chest, another in her stomach, and the last in her knee. To Will's surprise, each impact knocked Bedelia back. Hannibal made a triumphant sound in his throat and Will clutched his arm. Maybe they could get out of this alive.

The ghost screamed. The sound echoed through the house and the fireplaces all roared to life.

Thick black antlers erupted from the walls like a thicket of thorns. Hannibal flung himself forward on top of Will, narrowly avoiding tines that had nearly pierced through his back. They scrambled to the banister and peered at the confrontation unfolding below.

"You dare?" asked Bedelia. "You dare,  _in my house?"_ She stalked down the steps, regal and outraged.

"Bella," said Jack, "now would be a good time."

_Bella? Oh, Mrs Crawford._ Will wondered what Mrs Crawford was supposed to do, and then he saw it: she spread her hands and started chanting. A golden rosary swayed in her right hand as she recited something.

Hannibal murmured, "She's reciting Latin. An exorcism."

Bedelia made a grabbing gesture at the ceiling and bits of plaster and a beam came crashing down. Jack pulled his wife aside just before the beam hit. The apparition darted down to the first landing and ripped away the banister with inhuman strength.

Jack fired the guns again, but though the shots shoved Bedelia back, it did little to deter her from stalking down the stairs. Bella's chanting grew more intense and the ghost shrieked. Bits of her tore away and faded like mist.

Gripping Hannibal's forearm, Will whispered, "They can't stop her." 

"I am sorry, Will, to have led you into this," Hannibal said quietly. "I will resolve this. There will be a resolution; I owe her this."

The way he said the words sent chills down Will's spine. The younger man tried to formulate a reply, but before he could, Hannibal had stood up and strode to the banister.

His voice was commanding and stern. "Bedelia! Let them go. Please."

"Why should I when I have the upper hand?" asked the ghost. Will could hear the cold amusement in her voice.

To Will's horror, Hannibal kicked apart the railing. There was nothing between him and the tiles four floors down. A fall could easily break his neck. Even so, the doctor looked every bit in control as he always did. 

Suddenly Will understood. "No, wait-"

"Let them go, freely and unharmed, and I will stay in this house with you." Hannibal leaned forward slightly and Will wanted to grab him, pull him back to safety, but there was no safety in this house. "If they die here, they'd be trapped here, wouldn't they? I doubt that is a situation you would consider desirable. Let them leave. You can have me."

"You'll stay?" Bedelia actually sounded hesitant. Will's heart leaped: Hannibal had placed the right wager. 

"You have my word, Bedelia," said Hannibal. He raised his proud chin. "And I always keep my promises."

The look he sent Will from under his lashes meant more than a thousand words. Will got to his feet and scrambled down the stairs, his right side scraped and scratched by the tines of the antlers protruding from the wall.

The mocking gaze from Bedelia seared Will as he ran past her to the Crawfords. He cared nothing for what she might think of him; he needed the Crawfords' help. Phyllis embraced him gently and smoothed his hair from his brow.

"I placed a prayer of protection over you," she told him. "I'm sorry it didn't work."

Will shook his head. "You came to save us. Thank you."

Disregarding the trio's conversation, Bedelia looked up. "Come down, Hannibal. You will see our guests from our happy home."

The count descended the stairs. Every step was measured and calm. Will could see the tight control Hannibal exerted over his emotions, and wished he knew how to exorcise the ghost from the house. In life and in death, Bedelia had him imprisoned. Trapped.

"Go," Hannibal said evenly as he opened the front doors. "Please."

"Sir, with all due respect, we can't leave you here," said Jack, his wary eyes fixed on the blonde apparition. "Not with a vicious 'un like her."

Hannibal smiled thinly. "I murdered my own wife. I should remain. You need not."

"Hannibal-"

"Leave, Will. You deserve better than a murderer."

"Enough talk," Bedelia snapped. She gestured and the Crawfords were shoved out into the gale by an invisible force. They tried to rush in again but were kept out; Hannibal looked at them and shook his head.

A sharp knife flew from the foyer's table to land at Hannibal's feet. Bedelia came down the stairs and smiled unpleasantly at Will. The American stood his ground and raised his chin in defiance.

"Little undergrown  _harlot_ ," she hissed. "Pick up the knife, Hannibal."

The older man picked it up and touched the flat of the blade with his graceful fingers. "What would you have me do with it?"

"Kill him."

Will stared at Hannibal, mouth suddenly dry. Bedelia's presence was  _poison_ ; the two lovers watched the play of emotions in each other's eyes. Newly lovers, and now forced to suffer blood on their hands. Hannibal's gaze was steady, but Will saw pain flicker over his features.

Bedelia strode away, arrogant and mocking. The hissing of the water dripping off her dead, bloated skin was, to Will, louder than the winds howling outside Raudonis Hall. As she got to the first landing of the stairs, she said, "Kill him, Hannibal, or I will. As I've done your other lovers. And now... I can do so much worse than shoving them off a roof."

Hannibal was about to refuse, when Will grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. With his lips brushing Hannibal's cheek, he whispered soundlessly, "You're a doctor. You know where."

"Will."

"I love you. I trust you."

The knife slid in without warning and Will gasped. The hurt did not register until he staggered backwards and sagged against a wall, away from Hannibal. The count's hand was smeared with red blood; his face was impassive. Without another word or another glance behind him, Hannibal followed Bedelia up the stairs. The ghost's smile was obscenely triumphant.

Will inhaled sharply and nearly cried out from the pain, but he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out of the mansion. Phyllis Crawford caught him before he fell again, and her husband braced him on the other side.

"I've bandages in the buggy." Jack Crawford sounded gruff. "That stab didn't nick anything vital, or I'm no hunter."

"He's a doctor," Will said with a grunt and and a whimper when they helped him into a beat-up old buggy. "Do you... How did you know about her?"

Phyllis sighed as she cleaned the wound. "I smelled her stench once I came here, and wrote my husband immediately. She's bound to the place, though for what reason I dare not assume."

Jack's lip curled in disdain. "Maybe she was killed here."

"No," Will corrected. "Florence. She was killed in Florence. But here... this is where she's killed others, and she said -- she said she put her heart into the house." He breathed as deeply as he could, ignoring the agony in his side. Every word took effort. "How can we be rid of her?"

"Salt and fire." Jack peered up at the monstrous bulk of Raudonis Hall. "Not enough salt for a place this large."

Will swallowed. All their work... But there was no power in heaven or in hell that would keep him from freeing Hannibal Lecter. "We'll burn it. Burn it all down."

 


	10. Chapter 10

They found a horse doctor on the edges of town that sewed up Will and bandaged him up with some herbs. Throughout the treatment, the man chewed on a wad of tobacco and never said a word. Jack Crawford helped the horse doctor keep Will steady, while Phyllis helped with the bandages. 

"You said salt and fire can get rid of the ghost," Will said immediately once the horse doctor sent them to a spare room in his house. "We'll need to burn it down."

"It's a big house, Mr Graham," said Jack.

Will's lips twitched and he looked away. "Call me Will."

"Will. It's a big house. The weather - it's looking to rain tomorrow too. A storm, even. There is no way we can burn it down."

"I can help." Mrs Phyllis Crawford folded her hands in her lap. She gazed at her husband. "I will go to the miners' chapel. There, I can work, and you need not worry for me."

"Bella..."

"Jack. I can do it."

Still dazed from the whiskey, Will looked at the Crawfords, confused. "Please, Mrs Crawford, what can you do?"

The woman regarded Will with her usual unflappable manner, and her full lips curved slightly. "I pray."

*****

"Your wife is-"

"She is."

"But-"

"Look, Will," said Jack, tucking him into the narrow cot as though Will was an errant child stayed up past his bedtime. "You need to sleep tonight. What happened earlier was ten kinds of crazy, but I know ghosts. The vengeful kind, especially. They want. They always _want._ But when they get what they want, they don't know what to do. Count Lecter is safe for tonight."

Will winced at the ache in his belly. While not entirely assured, he was nonetheless helpless to do what he wanted. Hannibal was alone in Raudonis Hall, alone with the mad wraith of Bedelia; who knew what horrors he'd be subjected to?

The horse doctor poked his head in and handed another bottle of whiskey to Jack. He jerked his hairy chin at Will and ducked out.

Jack grinned his gap-toothed smile and passed the bottle to Will. "Jeremiah thinks you need more alcohol to dull your senses. Go on then, take a long drink, then sleep."

"And what would you be doing?" Will asked sharply, though he obediently swigged the whiskey.

"Planning. When Bella does what she does, there will be a window of opportunity. I'll sort it out," said Jack. "We'll get the count out of there, Mr Will Graham. You was polite to my wife. I appreciate that. And she's fond of you. For that, I'd help you do anything." He left Will to his own thoughts and went out.

The young American lay on his back, thinking about how he had woken up that morning, and tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He loved Hannibal. It was unlooked for, unasked; the depth of affection and passion had astonished him when he admitted it. Yet he remembered the strange spark when he first looked at the doctor in Baltimore, and the two months spent traveling together, side by side but never touching. Hannibal's habits had become dear to Will even before he had dared confess to himself that what he felt for his employer was more than loyalty and gratitude.

Hannibal's profile had always drawn Will's attention. He could picture the man in his head, from the strong brow to the straight nose, to sensual lips framed by a well-trimmed beard (then shaved, and allowed to grow back in), to the sweep of sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes rich as honey and tea. But there had always been a shadow in Hannibal's gaze, and now Will knew what had cast it.

 _He is a murderer,_ Will's conscience whispered.  _He deserves what he's got. Walk away, Will. No one will begrudge you this._

"I can't," murmured the young man, and squeezed his eyes shut. He covered them as his throat constricted around sorrow and fear and longing.  _He has taken my heart, and to leave will be to endure a living death. I cannot leave. I will not leave._

*****

Hannibal sat in the drawing room, watching the fireplace. He was aware of his late wife's presence; it was surprising how he had not felt it before. All that malevolence and desire, the clawing obsession and need to dominate... Aloud, he said, "What would you have me do here, Bedelia? Do you want me to die?"

"No," said the ghost. She sat down beside him, still dripping and naked and bloated. He hardly noticed how grotesque her appearance was now. He had set it in motion, and he had seen worse. She placed a hand on his wrist. "You want to die. And if you do, you'll disappear. I don't want you to go."

"So what would you have me do?"

"Play the harpsichord for me, Hannibal, as you used to."

"The harpsichord needs tuning. I'll play the piano." Hannibal stood and walked to the instrument. Running a hand over its varnished surface, he wished very privately he had had the chance to play for Will. Will had never heard Hannibal play, would never hear him play. Sitting down, his memory flicked through some of his favorite pieces. "The piano is for memory. We have a lot to remember."

His fingers began the slow dance on the ivory keys. The second movement of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 floated out, mournful and melancholic.

*****

Will woke before dawn, his heart racing as though he was being chased by wolves. Jack was snoring, having fallen asleep in the chair. After a long, deep inhalation, Will checked his side. No bleeding. When he stood up, he could feel a twinge of pain, nothing like the hurt the day before.

Hannibal did indeed know where to stab.

There was a knock on the door. Mrs Crawford - Phyllis - called out, "Are you decent, Mr Graham?"

"Yes, Mrs Crawford."

She entered with a tray of food and gently set it on the table. "Phyllis will do."

"Then I insist on your calling me Will."

Phyllis checked Will's temperature. Her hand was warm and work-roughened, and the smell of herbs clung to her skin. She sat him down and took the place opposite him, looking into his eyes. Her own were inscrutable, unfathomable. Eventually she said, very quietly, "I do not judge what you have with Dr Lecter, but there is a price for what he has done. I dare not guess what that would be. You may have to bear the price as well, should you choose to remain with him."

"I choose him." Will swallowed and gripped his left hand, achingly aware that he would never bear a ring. 

"As you wish." Phyllis nodded. "The storm will be delayed long enough for us to rescue the doctor."

"How do you..." Will was not certain how he was to complete the thought.

Phyllis smiled warmly. "My parents were devout, and I spent a lot of time with God in my heart and in my mind. I learned early that a sincere prayer can move mountains, though sometimes not in the ways you'd expect."

Will glanced at the still-snoring Jack. "He's not like you, is he?"

"Oh no. He was a hunter-trapper by trade. I was thinking of joining a convent when I met him. He killed the monster that took my parents, and he saved me. He turned his skills to ridding the world of terrors and monsters these days. God put us in each other's lives. Now I serve God by being Jack's helpmate, and it helps that we love our Maker as fiercely as we do each other." The gentle bliss in her expression made Will flush; he wanted, so much, to be able to say this to others, yet he would never be able to do so. Phyllis touched his left hand. "God put you in Dr Lecter's life, and him in yours. Perhaps there is a purpose for this too."

*****

Jack's plan involved a lot of mysterious boxes and four other men, all grim-faced and quiet. They were waiting outside in a small horse-drawn cart. Phyllis was not going with them; she would be praying at the chapel until their return, she said, and gave Will a very brief embrace. 

"They won't stay long," said Jack. "But we will need speed. Raudonis Hall is much too large for me alone."

Will frowned, aware that his injury made him less of an aide and more of a liability. Jack apparently felt the younger man's distress and said, ""You just worry about saving the count. Your task is to get him out of the house. Besides, you know the house better than any of us. Is there a way to go inside that's less likely to rouse her attention?"

 _The elevator shaft._ Will had asked for it to be boarded up between the cellar and the mines, but it would not be a difficult task to remove the boards. He told Jack about it and he directed the buggy towards the mines. Before he got there, he had the three men take two boxes each.

"On my signal," said Jack once they had their burdens.

One of them, a burly man with a thick scar roping across his throat, said, "What's the signal, Jack?"

"You'll hear it from inside the house. If you hear nothing, set it all off at noon."

As they trundled off towards the mine, Will asked, "What are all the boxes for?"

"Well," said Jack with a wide grin, "I'm going to deliver the ghost to eternal judgment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Mozart Piano Concerto No. 23 - Adagio ](https://youtu.be/Y85rKEEkmHw)  
>  Possibly one chapter more, and then an epilogue.


	11. Chapter 11

Will remembered the first time he had fixed something. It had been a wobbly chair, nothing special, but it had been his dad's chair. When his father had sat in it and found it stable, he had been delighted. Will remembered the proud smile on his father's work-tanned face, the smell of smoke and earth clinging to the older man. Will had associated that scent with pride and familial approval ever since.

Now the smell of clay clung to every part of him. It had been easy to walk into the mine, and Jack had been deft with a crowbar. But red clay stained their clothes and skin, making them look as though they were coated in fresh blood. They took the boxes up into the cellar.

Jack checked his watch. "It's twenty minutes before noon."

"Is there enough time for you to set it all up?" Will eyed the boxes nervously. He knew what they were now. It pained him that all the work he and the workmen had poured into fixing the stately Raudonis Hall was to be utterly in vain, but if the price for Hannibal's life was this mansion, Will would pay it ten times over. 

With a frown, Jack said, "We've made it so that the slightest spark would ignite the powder. Bella told us last night where to place them. I will need you to locate Count Lecter and distract the ghost, however."

"She hates the sight of me."

"I brought you along for that very reason. That is why you're the best lure. Keep her engaged and I will be able to distribute the charges properly. Here. For emergencies. If you can, get the count out of the mansion. If not, then save yourself." The sturdy black man patted him on the shoulder, and then prodded him in the direction of the stairs. "Go on."

*****

_Lure. I am the lure._ Will was not certain how he felt about that, but it was definitely the most appropriate role for him to play. He crept up slowly, favoring his uninjured side, emerging in the kitchen, and then headed out into the main hall.

It was completely, devastatingly silent.

There was debris from their battle the night before, with broken lengths of wood and shattered glass from the windows littering the tiled floors. Patches of sunlight interrupted the walls - the sun was overhead, so the house was mostly shadow. There was no sign of Bedelia or Hannibal; there was no sign that there was a living person other than Will and Jack within the premises.

The young man took a few steps forward. It was bitterly cold, although strangely enough there was a fire crackling in the massive fireplace. Then Will saw a pair of legs by the chair facing the fire -- wearing men's boots -- and hurried over. Heat did not radiate even the short distance to the chair.

"Hannibal, we have to-" Will choked down the words when he realized who was in the chair.

Burns was dead.

His neck had been ripped open by what looked like fingers, and his eyes were wide with shock. The stench of death colored the air around him; his bowels had loosened, obviously, but beyond that Will could practically taste the fear Burns must have felt in his final moments.

In his lap sat little Trebia, her white fur matted with blood. She had been chewing on Burns' hand.  _For the meat._

"Oh Lord," murmured Will as he plucked the cat from the dead man's lap. Bile rose in his throat as he cradled Trebia close. It was not her fault; she was a cat, she ate meat, and here was a source that was freshly dead. _It is not her fault._

Will was aware that he was making excuses for the cat. He would be making excuses for Hannibal too. He had been, ever since Hannibal's terrible confession, unable to stop loving the murderer.

Trebia snuggled up to Will despite the clay, but she abruptly tensed and began to hiss. Her sharp claws dug mercilessly into his flesh. Will spun around and saw Bedelia, still as grotesque as she had seemed the night before.

"You should be dead," she snarled.

"Says the woman who is," Will retorted, hoping his steady voice hid his trembling nerves. Trebia was shaking and shivering, her hissing transmuted into a low, disconcerting growl that rumbled through her entire frame.

Bedelia raised her chin imperiously, glaring at him and the cat with her clouded eyes. "No matter. I can kill you myself."

She advanced on him, every step soundless but for the dripping of water. Will backed away, heart pounding, but before he could take a fourth step Bedelia was right in front of him, her rank stench wrapping like a miasma around them.

"Brave little harlot," she murmured mockingly, "dying for the man who gave you the one good fuck in your life. Stupid, naive, reckless _boy."_

"I'm here because I love him."

Bedelia's grip snapped close on his throat. Her tongue and lips were bloated black when she snarled, "Love? He was supposed to love _me!_ I gave- _Get off me!_ "

Trebia had launched herself at her dead owner, clawing as deeply as she could. With her free hand, Bedelia grabbed the animal by the back of her neck and flung her into the fireplace.

"Trebia!" Will choked out a cry.

Thankfully, the cat leaped out with a screeching yowl and dashed out of the kitchen, trailing after it the smell of singed fur.

Bedelia barely accorded it a second thought. "Ungrateful pest," she said, and then turned her attention to Will again. "Just like my husband. I gave him so much of my life, and he took mine. Now I'll just take yours."

Will grunted. Then he shoved a closed hand between them and threw the contents in his fist in her face.

She shrieked and dropped him. Will dug into the pouch for another handful of salt. "Where is Hannibal?"

Bedelia's sightless gaze burned. "I'll give him to you over your dead body." With a flicker she disappeared, leaving only a rapidly-evaporating puddle of water.

The sun was bright outside, incongruously cheerful and utterly at odds with the horrors within the house. Will took to the stairs as fast as he could, his side aching and burning from the exertion. He didn't care. Hannibal was here, he was here somewhere -  _master bedroom, she would want to punish him in the master bedroom where he took me -_ Will forced his body to move faster.

"Hannibal!" he shouted. "Hannibal!"

No answering call.

Fearing the worst, Will nevertheless climbed the stairs until he reached the master bedroom on the top floor. There Hannibal was, shirtless and bound, with long scratches dug into the skin of his arms and along his right cheek. Blood crusted along the lines of his wounds but his eyes were glassy and his mouth slack. His breathing was shallow and labored.

"Remarkable thing, laudanum," said Bedelia. The door slammed shut. "And remarkable thing, love. We endure so much more once we've consumed it. Well, I say 'we', but I'm not able to consume any more, am I?"

Will wondered frantically what time it was. He had to delay her, he had to save the doctor. "What did you do to him?"

"Gave him a taste of his own medicine." She smiled. "He dosed me with laudanum and opium before he drowned me. Made sure I could not have fought back. It's quite potent. I could have ripped out his heart and he would not have resisted."

His blood ran cold. So close, he had been so close to losing Hannibal forever. "Please. Torture me instead. Let him go. What you want from him he can never give. Take me in his stead."

"You really can't live without him, can you?" asked Bedelia, tilting her head slightly. 

Will slipped open a pocketknife in his left hand. In his right was the salt. Very quickly he cut the ropes that bound Hannibal's wrists and ankles.

Bedelia made no move to stop him. "So devoted to this adulterous murderer. Why?"

"Because he's mine," said Will.

Her expression went blank, and then hardened. "So be it." With a gesture she hurled them both against the wall and then sent the bed flying towards them. Will grabbed Hannibal and rolled, a sharp tearing in his side telling him that he had reopened his injuries. He quickly hauled Hannibal over his shoulders - no mean feat, but fear lent him strength - and hurtled out the door. Bedelia followed.

With his precious burden Will could not move fast, and when Bedelia materialized before him out of thin air he was badly startled. He stumbled against the banister and momentum threw him over the side. Hannibal landed first with a loud thud, and Will partly atop his lover.

"Hannibal-" Will gasped. Agony shot up his leg. He crawled up to look at the older man, hoping he had not done too much damage.

Hannibal groaned and took in a rattling, gasping breath. Some alertness returned to his eyes. "Will?"

"Your darling Will Graham came back to die for you," Bedelia announced with malicious sweetness. "I am going to oblige him."

Will grabbed more salt from his pouch - not much left - and flung it in her direction. She hissed and dissipated. Will inched over and got onto one knee. "Come on, we have to go, there isn't much time-"

"Will!" Jack yelled, shoving the front door open with a long, burning pole. He saw the state of the two men and darted in to help them out.

Hannibal's legs gave out near the front door. He pushed Will ahead of him. "Go!"

"Hannibal-"

An explosion rocked the side of the house. The sound shocked all of them and sent Jack and Will staggering out of the mansion. Will fended off Jack's helping hand but landed awkwardly on his broken leg. He screamed, but the sound was covered by another blast from behind the building. Then Will saw flaming arrows arching towards the beautiful shutters, the just-repaired roof. Hannibal was still struggling to his feet to get out of Raudonis Hall.

Jack rushed towards the count, but Bedelia appeared abruptly and dragged Hannibal back by his left foot. The great front doors slammed shut with a wild, triumphant laugh.

Four successive blasts deafened and blinded Will. He paid no heed to his broken limb, bellowing to be let back in there, but already the explosives kept going off, one after the other. Flames shot up the sides of Raudonis Hall, greedily devouring dry wood and elaborate carvings. Jack and another man dragged Will away from the burning house, while the others kept firing flaming arrows at it.

"We have to go," said Jack. "The smoke will have attracted the attention of those in town."

"I won't leave," said Will. He felt numbed and empty. 

"You'll be arrested-"

"I don't care. Go, Jack. Mrs Crawford is waiting for you."

The rest of the men had already got to the vehicle. Jack made an impatient sound and bent to carry Will, but the American punched him in the jaw. 

"Go!" he yelled at all of them.

Grimacing, Jack Crawford jumped onto the waiting wagon and they drove off. The heat from the blazing house seared Will where he sat, crumpled and alone. He could hardly breathe.

Slowly the wind whipped up and the fire burned even more ferociously. Intricate arches and delicate lintels blackened and charred into ash. The roof fell in, and then the top floor crashed into the third. The impact forced the front doors to blow open.

Will started crawling towards the burning hall. He could feel his skin getting hot, his eyes drying out from the heat, but it didn't matter. Drawing strength from deep within his soul, he lurched forward on his knees and hands, always keeping his eyes on the open door. Tears streamed from his eyes and dried on his cheeks with every passing second.

And then a figure still reeking of charred meat and smoke stumbled forward clumsily onto the stoop. Will grabbed the outstretched hand and gripped it as tightly as he could. Hannibal fought to his feet and helped Will up, tugging them as far from the house as the two of them could manage, before Hannibal folded over in an ungainly collapse.

Will fell next to him. He saw Hannibal's ruined face and had to blink back tears. 

"I owed her that much, at least," Hannibal whispered, coughing at the end of the sentence. He touched the corner of Will's lips. "You're alive. That's good enough for me."

Will was about to answer when he heard a pitiful mew. Trebia emerged from a nearby bush, looking much the worse for wear, and curled up between them. Behind them, Raudonis Hall gave one final, unearthly shriek, and crumbled. The smoke plumed like a black dragon seeking for the heavens. Will hoped Bedelia would burn in hell, and cuddled Trebia close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue.


	12. Epilogue

Margot sat facing her sister-in-law, assiduously avoiding her brother's smug expression, keeping her own face schooled with cold indifference. For her part, Alana only let her gaze flicker over Margot once and return to her ham and eggs. Mason, of course, did not let something as insignificant as utter loathing stop him from making his grand announcement. 

"Margot! Do smile. It's happy,  _happy_ day," he said with a broad grin. "Come on Margot. Smile."

"I will as soon as you tell me what you intend for me to smile about," said Margot, spreading butter on a fresh slice of fine white bread.

"We are having a baby! Well, Alana is," he leered at his wife. "A Verger baby. Isn't that  _wonderful?_ I hope it's a son. Even if it isn't, Alana is very healthy. She'll produce one eventually, am I right, Alana?"

"Of course, dear," said Alana, spearing a bite of ham daintily.

Mason grinned. "Of course I am." He tore a bread roll apart and handed it to his wife, who buttered it generously and gave it back with a sweet smile. Chewing on the bread, he said indistinctly, "Shee, Margot? Alana knowsh how to behave ash a Verger woman. You really ought to learn from her. Now shmile."

Margot smiled flatly. 

Mason sniffed. "I want my son to grow up in a loving family. You're going to be Auntie Margot. You have to love my son properly. Like he's your son."

"Yes, Mason." Margot returned to her eggs. "Congratulations. There is a new heir to the Verger fortune."

Alana buttered the other half of the bread roll for Mason. "What are your plans for today, dear?"

"Visiting Judge Edwards. That audacious lie of a charge... Cordell will soon set things straight, right Cordell?"

The huge manservant inclined his head and smiled politely. Margot disliked Cordell. The man did everything and anything for Mason.  _Anything._ And most of what he did was not fit to be spoken about in polite company.

"And what about you Alana? What naughty little thing are you up to today?"

"Nothing naughty at all," said Alana, ducking her head shyly. "I am visiting my mentor. He's in town, heading towards Washington."

"That, uh... Count Lecter, right? The disfigured one?"

"He is badly burned, yes." Alana sighed. "There is a doctor reputed to repair burn damage in Washington, so that is where Count Lecter is headed."

"Hmm." Mason chewed thoughtfully. "Margot, go with your sister-in-law."

Margot looked bored. "Must I?"

"Margot..."

The woman exhaled slowly, a long-suffering sigh. "Of course, brother dear. I will keep my sister-in-law company anywhere she goes."

If Alana's smile widened, Cordell thought it was in response to Mason's effusive praise of his sister's compliance, and did not mention it to his employer.

*****

*****

The baby was a boy.

Mason named his son Walter Irvin, after his grandfather. He crowed about his son's good health and handsome features, and busied himself with throwing a lavish party for his boy.

Alana and Margot exchanged a smile over the crib the morning of the party.

*****

*****

It was an accident. A horrible one, said the police, and they had had to slaughter the entire pen of pigs to be burned. No one would have wanted pork from man-eating beasts.

There were many who came to the funeral. None of them were Mason's friends, though they freely offered condolences to the widow.

"Take care of the boy," they all said. "Take care of the boy."

Alana knew what they meant. She just nodded and thanked all of them, one by one. If her sister-in-law stood close to her and took her hand often, no one thought it strange.

*****

*****

Four years later, when Alana, Margot and Walter visited Paris, they made sure to stop by a set of apartments in Boulevard Poissoniere.

Though Walter was initially wary of the older man with the ruined face, he was ecstatic to find two cocker spaniels to play with, and as the boy laughed and ran about the house with the dogs, the adults sat in one of the drawing rooms. Will served them tea and pastries, and bade them stay for dinner.

"How can we ever thank you?" asked Margot. Her hand rested on Alana's, their fingers entwined.

Hannibal gazed at Will fondly. "There is no need for gratitude." 

"Indeed," said Will, and, with a glance to make sure Walter was not looking in their direction, kissed his lover warmly on his burned cheek. "If anything, we owed Alana first."

Margot laughed. "Regardless, your efforts gave us our family. This is more than I could have ever dreamed of."

Alana raised her cup. "To family."

Will and Hannibal followed suit, chuckling at the notion of toasting with teacups. "To family."


End file.
